DUKE 

UNIVERSITY 


LIBRARY 


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LIBRARY  OF  FOREIGN  POETRY. 

Uni/orm  volumes,  \(>mo.  Cloth.  Gilt  ioJ>,  beveled  edges. 

I. 

Herz’s  King  Rene’s  Daughter. 

Translated  from  the  Danish  by 'J'heo.  Maktin 
Price,  ^1.25. 

II. 

Tegner’s  Frithiof's  Saga. 

Translated  from  the  Swedish  by  Rev.  W.  L.  Blackley.  Edited  by 
Bavakd  I'aylok. 

Price,  $1.50. 

III. 

Lessing’s  Nathan  the  Wise. 

'IVanslated  from  the  German  by  Miss  Eli.en  Frothingham. 

Price,  ^1.50. 

IV. 

Selections  from  the  Kalevala — The  National  Epic 
of  Finland. 

Translated  by  Prof.  John  A.  Porter. 

Price,  $1,50. 

V. 

Heine’s  Book  of  Songs. 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Chas.  G.  Lelanu. 

Price,  $1.50. 

VI. 

Goethe’s  Poems  and  Ballads. 

Translated  from  the  German  by  Aytoun  and  Martin. 

Price,  $1.50. 

VII. 

Ancient  Spanish  Ballads. 

Historical  and  Romantic.  Translated  by  J.  G.  Lockhart. 
Price,  $1.25. 


HENRY  HOLT  & CO., 

PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK. 


ANCIENT 


SPANISH  BALLADS 

HISTORICAL  AND  R03IANTIG 


TRANSLATED  BY 

J.  G.  LOCKHART 

WITH  A BIOG  RAPHIGAL  NOTICE 


NEW  EDITION,  REVISED 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1877 


SUO^f 

kmRQ_ 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1860,  by 
TICKNUU  AJSi>  i?JELDS, 
in  the  Clerk  s Oftice  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Mossaciiusetts. 


John  F.  Trow  & Son,  Printers, 
205-213  East  i2Th  St,,  New  York. 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 


John  Gibson  Lockhart  was  a younger  son  of  a Scotch 
clergyman,  and  was  born  in  1794  in  the  parish  of  Cambusnethan 
When  he  was  two  years  old  his  father  removed  to  Glasgow,  and 
in  this  city  he  passed  the  remaining  years  of  his  childhood.  At 
an  early  age  he  entered  the  University  of  Glasgow,  where  he 
at  once  distinguished  himself  by  his  proficiency  as  a scholar,  and 
by  his  rich  promise  of  future  eminence.  In  1809,  upon  the 
presentation  of  the  Senatus  of  this  venerable  institution,  he  was 
entered  of  Baliol  College,  Oxford.  Here  he  fully  sustained  his 
reputation  for  excellent  scholarehip  ; and  in  1813  he  took  the 
highest  honors  awarded  to  young  men  of  his  standing.  Before 
the  completion  of  his  collegiate  course  he  visited  the  Continent, 
and  spent  some  time  in  Germany  in  studying  the  language  and 
literature  of  that  country.  Upon  his  return  to  England  he  re- 
sumed his  connection  with  Baliol  College,  and  was  graduated  in 
1817  with  the  degree  of  Bachelor  of  Laws. 

After  leaving  Oxford  he  was  admitted  to  the  Scotch  bar ; but 
he  soon  relinquished  the  practice  of  the  law  for  the  more  con- 
genial pursuit  of  polite  literature.  Upon  the  commencement  of 
Blackwood’s  Magazine,  he  became  one  of  its  ablest  and  most 
frequent  contributors ; and  it  is  known  that  he  wrote  a con- 
siderable part  of  the  Noctes  Arabrosianse.  It  was  from  the  tone 


62C8S 


IV 


BIOGRAPHICAI,  NOTICE. 


and  temper  of  his  contributions  to  this  journal  that  the  famous 
quarrel  arose  which  resulted  in  the  death  of  John  Scott,  a friend 
of  Charles  Lamb,  and  at  that  time  editor  of  the  London  Mag- 
azine. The  pages  of  Blackwood’s  Magazine  were  from  the 
first  disfigured  by  gross  personalities,  and  by  sweeping  abuse  of 
every  prominent  person  who  differed  with  its  writers  upon  po- 
litical and  literary  questions.  To  some  of  these  articles  Scott 
replied  with  considerable  asperity  through  the  pages  of  his  own 
journal.  Lockhart  considered  himself  aggrieved  by  the  tuiTi 
which  the  discussion  took,  and  challenged  his  antagonist..  But 
in  the  corresjiondence  relative  to  the  propo.^ed  meeting,  new 
elements  were  mtroduced,  which  changed  it  into  a duel  between 
Scott  and  a .lawyer  named  Christie,  Lockhart’s  second.  The 
duel  was  fought  by  moonlight  at  Chalk  Farm,  famous  as  the 
scene  of  the  bloodless  encounter  between  Moore  and  Jeffrey,  and 
Scott  was  mortally  wounded.  His  opponent  and  the  seconds 
were  tried  for  wilful  murder,  and  were  acquitted.  The  whole 
transaction,  however,  must  be  regarded  as  a heavy  stain  upon 
Lockhart’s  character,  since  he  was  both  the  aggressor  and  the 
challenging  party. 

In  1819  he  published  anonymously  Peter’s  Letters  to  his 
Kinsfolk,  a series  of  sketches  of  persons  of  note  in  Scotland, 
written  with  much  spirit  and  ability,  but  marked  by  a strong 
party  tone.  It  is  said  that  the  publication  of  this  work  led  to 
Lockhart’s  intimacy  with  Sir  Walter  Scott,  whose  eldest  daugh- 
ter he  married  in  the  following  year.  A son  by  this  marriage, 
John  Hugh  Lockhart,  was  the  Hugh  Little-John,  Esq.  to  whom 
Sir  Walter  dedicated  the  charming  Tales  of  a Grandfather. 
Mrs.  Lockhart  died  in  the  spring  of  1837,  a few  years  after  the 
death  of  her  father,  and  several  of  Lockhart’s  children  died  at 
an  early  age.  His  married  life  extended  over  about  seventeen 
years,  and  was  only  clouded  by  these  frequent  bereavements. 
In  his  Life  of  Scott,  he  has  given  a pleasing  picture  of  the  happy 


MOCJRAPHICAI.  NOTICE. 


V 


years  passed  in  the  society  of  Sir  Walter,  and  in  his  own  famil;^ 
circle  at  Chiefswood,  near  Abbotsford,  where  he  resided  until  his 
removal  to  London. 

After  his  marriage  Lockhart  devoted  himself  exclusively  to 
literary  pursuits ; and  in  1821  he  published  Valerius,  the  ear- 
liest and  best  of  his  novels.  The  scene  of  this  story  is  laid  in 
the  times  of  the  Empei’or  Trajan,  and  its  interest  principally 
turns  upon  the  persecutions  of  the  Christians  in  that  age.  But 
it  contains  some  brilliant  sketches  of  Roman  life  and  manners, 
and  is  one  of  the  eaidiest  in  a class  of  novels  which  have  since 
become  quite  numerous  in  our  language.  He  next  published, 
in  rapid  succession,  three  other  novels,  Adam  Blair,  Reginald 
Dalton,  and  Matthew  Wald.  Each  of  these  works  was  strongly 
marked  by  his  intellectual  peculiarities,  and  was  much  read  ; but 
they  were  not  of  equal  merit,  and  are  now  nearly  forgotten. 

About  the  same  time  he  published  an  edition  of  Don  Quixote, 
with  a Life  of  Cervantes,  and  copious  notes,  and  also  collected 
from  Blackwood’s  Magazine,  and  from  the  Edinburgli  Annual 
Register,  the  Spanish  Ballads  contained  in  this  volume.  These 
celebrated  translations  appeared  at  a time  when  Spanish  litera- 
ture was  beginning  to  attract  much  attention  in  England,  and 
they  soon  became  popular.  This  popularity  they  have  ever 
since  maintained ; and  their  real  merits  ai’e  acknowledged  by 
all  competent  critics.  Yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  they  are 
bold  and  spirited  paraphrases,  rather  than  exact  translations. 
Since  their  publication  much  new  light  has  been  thrown  upon 
Spanish  literature  and  history  by  the  writings  of  Southey,  Frere, 
Ford,  Lord  Holland,  Lord  Mahon,  and  William  Stirling,  in 
England,  and  of  Prescott  and  Ticknor  in  this  country.  In  the 
admirable  History  of  Spanish  Literature  by  Mr.  Ticknor,  the 
most  thorough  and  scholaily  work  of  its  kind  which  has  yet 
appeared  in  any  language,  the  reader  will  find  much  curious 
information  in  regard  to  the  old  ballad  literature  of  Spain,  and 


VI 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOTICE. 


some  excellent  translations.  But  notwithstanding  the  greater 
familiarity  with  Spanish  literature  now  common,  Lockhart’s 
Spanish  Ballads  must  continue  to  hold  a high  place  among  simi- 
lar productions  ; and  it  has  been  judiciously  remarked,  that  they 
will  preserve  his  name  longer  than  any  of  his  original  pro- 
ductions. 

Two  years  after  the  publication  of  the  Ballads  he  published  a 
Life  of  Burns.  Though  the  researches  of  subsequent  biogra- 
phers have  brought  to  light  some  new  facts  in  regard  to  the 
poet’s  personal  history,  this  Life  is  one  of  the  best  biographies  of 
him  which  we  possess,  and  is  written  in  a pleasing  and  graceful 
style.  These  different  works  had  already  given  Lockhart  an 
extended  reputation,  and  not  long  after  the  withdrawal  of  Gifford, 
the  first  editor  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  he  was  appointed  to 
the  editorial  charge  of  that  journal,  upon  the  recommendation 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott.  This  office  he  continued  to  hold  for  more 
than  a quarter  of  a century,  until  he  Avas  compelled  to  resign  it 
in  1853,  in  consequence  of  failing  health.  During  the  Avhole  of 
this  period  his  editorial  duties  were  discharged  with  signal  ability, 
and  the  Review  maintained  a high  character,  notwithstanding  the 
occasional  virulence  of  its  tone,  and  the  gross  injustice  of  some 
of  its  literary  judgments.  Upon  his  apjiointment  as  editor  of 
the  Quarterly  Review,  Lockhart  removed  to  London  ; and  here 
he  resided  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  until  his  death. 

In  1829  he  published  a second  biographical  work,  a Life  of 
Napoleon  Bonaparte,  in  two  small  volumes,  which  had  a con- 
siderable popularity  at  the  time,  and  was  reprinted  in  this  coun- 
try. This  was  followed,  in  1836,  by  the  first  volume  of  his  Life 
of  Sir  Walter  Scott ; and  the  whole  work,  extending  to  seven 
volumes,  was  completed  within  the  next  two  years.  The  Life 
of  Scott  is  the  most  elaborate  and  best  known  of  Lockhart’s 
original  works,  and  deservedly  ranks  among  the  most  successful 
biographies  in  our  language.  It  exhibits,  indeed,  a characteristic 


BIOGRAPHICAL  NOUCE. 


VII 


bitterness  of  tone  in  the  discussion  of  some  personal  questions, 
but  it  is  charmingly  written,  and  possesses  a deep  and  often 
touching  interest. 

In  1813  he  was  appointed  to  the  sinecure  office  of  Auditor  of 
the  Duchy  of  Cornwall,  by  Sir  Robert  Peel,  as  a reward  for  his 
past  services  in  the  editorship  of  the  Quarterly  Review,  His 
income  had  long  been  considerable  for  a man  of  letters ; and 
after  this  addition  to  it  he  confined  his  literary  labors  to  the 
pages  of  the  Review.  After  relinquishing  his  charge  of  this 
journal,  in  1853,  he  visited  Italy  for  the  benefit  of  his  liealth. 
But  he  gained  little  by  the  journey  ; and  his  death  occurred  not 
long  after  his  return  to  England.  He  died  at  Abbotsford,  then 
the  residence  of  his  son-in-law,  on  the  25th  of  November,  1854. 

It  has  often  been  remarked,  that  the  life  of  a literary  man 
affords  few  marked  incidents  from  which  to  construct  an  in- 
teresting narrative.  Yet  the  lives  of  men  of  letters  are  among 
the  most  attractive  biographies  which  we  possess  ; and  from  the 
relation  in  which  Lockhart  stood  to  the  literary  men  of  one  of 
the  two  great  political  parties  in  England,  his  life,  if  fairly  and 
honestly  written,  can  scarcely  fail  to  be  full  of  rich  and  varied 
interest.  For  such  a memorial  of  his  life  and  character,  it  is 
said  that  he  left  ample  materials  in  the  form  of  an  autobiography. 
If  this  statement  is  correct,  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  the  volume 
will  soon  be  given  to  the  public,  under  the  editorial  supervision 
of  some  competent  person. 


C.  C.  S. 


INTRODUCTION. 


The  intention  of  this  publication  is  to  furnish  the  English  reader  with 
some  notion  of  that  old  Spanish  minstrelsy,  which  has  been  preserved  in 
the  different  Cancioneros  and  Romanceros  of  the  sixteenth  century.  That 
great  mass  of  popular  poetry  has  never  yet  received  in  its  own  country  the 
attention  to  which  it  is  entitled.  Wliile  hundreds  of  volumes  have  been 
■written  about  authors  who  were,  at  the  best,  ingenious  imitators  of  classical 
or  Italian  models,  not  one,  of  the  least  critical  merit,  has  been  bestowed 
upon  those  old  and  simpler  poets  who  were  contented  with  the  native  in- 
spirations of  Castilian  pride.  No  Spanish  Percy,  or  Ellis,  or  Ritson,  has 
arisen  to  perform  what  no  one  but  a Spaniard  can  entei-tain  the  smallest 
hope  of  achie'ving. 

Ml-.  Bouterwek,  in  his  excellent  History  of  Spanish  Literature  (Book  I. 
Sect.  1),  complained  that  no  attempt  had  ever  been  made  even  to  arrange 
the  old  Spanish  ballads  in  anything  like  chronological  order.  An  ingeni- 
ous countryman  of  his  cwn,  Mr.  Depping,  has  since,  in  some  measure,  sup- 
plied this  defect.  He  has  an-anged  the  historical  ballads  according  to  the 
chronology  of  the  persons  and  events  which  they  celebrate  ; for  even  this 
ob-vdous  matter  had  not  been  attended  to  by  the  original  Spanish  collectors ; 
hut  he  has  modestly  and  judiciously  refrained  from  attempting  the  chrono- 
logical an-angement  of  them  as  compositions;  feeling,  of  course,  that  no 
person  can  ever  acquire  such  a delicate  knowledge  of  a language  not  his 


X 


INTRODUCTION. 


own,  as  might  enable  him  to  distinguish,  with  accuraey,  between  the  dift'er- 
ent  shades  of  antiquity,  — or  even  jierhaps  to  draw  with  certainty  and  pre- 
cision the  broader  line  between  that  which  is  of  genuine  antiquity  and  that 
which  is  mere  modern  imitation.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  following 
translations  are  from  pieces  which  the  reader  will  find  in  Mr.  Depping’s 
Collection,  published  at  Leipsic  in  1817. 

The  first  Cancionero,  that  of  Ferdinand  de  Castillo,  appeared  so  early 
a.s  1.510.  In  it  not  a few  ballads  both  of  the  historical  and  of  the  romantic 
class  arc  included : and  as  the  title  of  the  book  itself  bears  “ Obras  de 
todos  o de  los  mas  principales  Trobadoras  de  Espana,  assi  aniiguos  como 
iiiodernos,”  it  is  clear  that  at  least  a certain  number  of  these  pieces  were 
considered  as  entitled  to  the  appellation  of  “ancient,”  in  the  year  1510. 
The  Cancionero  de  Romances,  published  at  Antwerp  in  1555,  and  afterwards 
often  reprinted  under  the  name  of  Eomancero,  was  the  earliest  collection 
that  admitted  nothing  but  ballads.  The  Romancero  Historiado  of  Lucas 
Eodriguez  aj^peared  at  Alcala,  in  1759  ; the  collection  of  Lorenzo  de  Se- 
pulveda, at  Antwerp,  in  1566.  The  ballads  of  the  Cid  were  first  published 
in  a collected  form  in  1615,  by  Escobar. 

But  there  are  not  wanting  circumstances  which  would  seem  to  establish, 
for  many  of  the  Spanish  ballads,  a claim  to  antiquity  much  higher  than 
is  to  be  inferred  from  any  of  these  dates.  In  the  oldest  edition  of  the 
Cancionero  General,  for  example,  there  are  several  pieces  which  boar  the 
name  of  Don  Juon  Manuel.  If  they  were  composed  by  the  celebrated 
author  of  Count  Lucanor,  (and  it  appears  very  unlikely  that  any  person 
of  less  distinguished  rank  should  have  assumed  that  style  without  some 
addition  or  distinction,)  we  must  cany  them  back  at  least  as  far  as  tbe  year 
1362,  when  the  Prince  Don  Juan  Manuel  died.  But  this  is  not  all.  The 
ballads  bearing  the  name  of  that  illustrious  author  are  so  far  from  appear- 
ing to  be  among  the  most  ancient  in  the  Cancionero,  that  even  a veiy  slight 
examination  must  be  sufficient  to  establish  exactly  the  reverse.  The  regu- 
larity and  completeness  of  their  rhjnnes  alone  are  quite  enough  to  satisfy 
any  one  who  is  acquainted  with  the  usual  style  of  the  redonddlas,  that  the 
ballads  of  Don  Juan  Manuel  are  among  the  most  modern  in  the  whole  col- 
lection. 


INTKODUCTION. 


XI 


But  indeed,  whatever  may  be  the  age  of  the  ballads  now  extant,  that 
the  Spaniards  had  ballads  of  the  same  general  character,  and  on  the  same 
subjects,  at  a veiy  early  period  of  their  national  history,  is  quite  certain. 
In  the  General  Chronicle  of  Spain,  wliich  was  compiled  in  the  thirteenth 
century  at  the  command  of  Alphonso  the  Wise,  allusions  are  perpetually 
made  to  the  popular  songs  of  the  Minstrels,  or  Joglares.  Now  it  is  evident 
that  the  phraseology  of  compositions  handed  down  orally  from  one  genera- 
‘•on  to  another,  must  have  undergone,  in  the  course  of  time,  a great  many 
alterations  ; yet,  in  point  of  fact,  the  language  of  by  far  the  greater  part 
of  the  Historical  Ballads  in  the  Romancero  does  appear  to  carry  the  stamp 
of  an  antiquity  quite  as  remote  as  that  used  by  the  compilers  of  the  General 
Chronicle  themselves.  Nay,  some  of  those  very  expressions  from  which 
Mi-.  Southey  would  seem  to  infer  that  the  Chronicle  op  the  Cid  is  a 
more  ancient  composition  than  the  General  Chronicle  op  Spain 
(which  last  was  written  before  1384),  are  quite  of  common  occun-ence  in 
these  same  ballads,  which  Mr.  Southey  considers  as  of  comparatively 
modem  origin.* 

All  this,  however,  is  a controversy  in  which  few  English  readers  can  be 
expected  to  take  much  interest.  And,  besides,  even  granting  that  the  • 
Spanish  ballads  were  composed  but  a short  time  before  the  first  Cancioneros 
were  published,  it  would  still  be  certain  that  they  form  by  far  the  oldest,  as 
well  as  largest,  collection  of  popular  poetry,  properly  so  called,  that  is  to 
be  found  in  the  literature  of  any  European  nation  whatever.  Had  there 
been  published  at  London,  in  the  reign  of  our  Henry  VIII.,  a vast  collec- 
tion of  English  ballads  about  the  wars  of  the  Plantagenets,  what  illusti-a- 
tion  and  annotation  would  not  that  collection  have  received  long  ere  now  ! 

How  the  old  Spaniards  should  have  come  to  be  so  much  more  wealtliy 
in  this  soi-t  of  possession  than  any  of  their  neighbors,  it  is  not  very  easy  to 
say.  They  had  their  taste  for  warlike  song  in  common  with  all  the  other 
members  of  the  great  Gothic  family ; and  they  had  a fine  climate,  afford- 
ing, of  course,  more  leisure  for  amusement  than  could  have  been  enjoyed 
beneath  the  rougher  sky  of  the  North.  The  flexibility  of  their  beautiful 


* See  the  Introduction  to  Mr.  Southey’s  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,  p.  v , note. 


Xll 


INTRODUCTION. 


language,  and  the  extreme  simplicity  of  the  versification  adopted  in  their 
ballads,  must,  no  doubt,  have  lightened  the  labor,  and  may  have  conse- 
quently increased  the  number,  of  their  professional  minstrels. 

To  tell  some  well-known  story  of  love  or  heroism  in  stanzas  of  four  octo- 
syllabic lines,  the  second  and  the  fourth  terminating  in  the  same  rhyme,  or 
in  what  the  musical  accompaniment  could  make  to  have  some  appearance  oj 
being  the  same,  — this  was  all  that  the  art  of  the  Spanish  coplero,  in  its  most 
perfect  state,  ever  aspired  to.  But  a line  of  seven  or  of  six  syllables  was 
admitted  whenever  that  suited  the  maker  better  than  one  of  eight : the 
stanza  itself  varied  from  four  to  six  lines,  with  equal  ease ; and  as  for  the 
matter  of  rhyme,  it  was  quite  sufficient  that  the  two  corresponding  sylla- 
bles contained  the  same  vowel.*  In  a language  less  abundant  in  harmoni- 
ous vocables,  such  laxity  could  scarcely  have  satisfied  the  car.  But  the 
Spanish  is,  like  the  sister  Italian,  music  in  itself,  though  music  of  a bolder 
character. 

I have  spoken  of  the  structure  of  the  redondillas,  as  Spanish  ^vriters 
generally  speak  of  it,  when  I have  said  that  the  stanzas  consist  of  four 
lines.  But  a distinguished  Gcnnan  antiquary.  Mi'.  Grimm,  who  published 
a little  sylva  of  Spanish  ballads  at  Vienna  in  1815,  expresses  his  opinion 
that  the  stanza  was  composed  in  reality  of  two  long  lines,  and  that  these 
had  subsequently  been  cut  into  four,  exactly  as  we  know  to  have  been  the 
case  in  regard  to  our  own  old  English  ballad-stanza.  Mr.  Grimm,  in  his 
small  but  very  elegant  collection,  prints  the  Spanish  verses  in  what  he  thus 
supposes  to  have  been  their  original  shape ; and  I have  followed  his  ex- 
ample in  the  form  of  the  stanza  which  I have  for  the  most  part  used. 

So  far  as  I have  been  able,  I have  followed  Mr.  Depping  in  the  classifi- 
cation of  the  specimens  which  follow. 

The  reader  will  find  placed  together  at  the  beginning  those  ballads  wliich 

* For  example : — 

Y arrastrando  luengos  lutos 
Entraron  treynta Jidalgos 
Escuderos  de  Ximena 
Ilija  del  conde  Locano, 

But,  indeed,  even  this  might  be  dispensed  with. 


INTRODUCTION. 


NIU 


U'cat  of  persons  and  events  kno^vn  in  the  authentic  history  of  Spain.  A 
few  concerning  the  unfortunate  Don  Roderick  and  the  Moorish  conquest 
of  the  eighth  century,  form  tlie  commencement ; and  the  series  is  carried 
doum,  though  of  course  with  wide  gaps  and  intervals,  yet  so  as  to  furnish 
something  like  a connected  sketch  of  tlie  gradual  progress  of  the  Christian 
anns,  until  the  surrender  of  Granada,  in  the  year  1492,  and  the  consequent 
flight  of  the  last  Moorish  sovereign  from  the  Peninsula. 

Throughout  that  very  extensive  body  of  historical  ballads  from  which 
these  specimens  have  been  selected,  there  prevails  a uniformly  high  tone 
of  sentiment ; — such  as  might  have  been  expected  to  distinguish  the  popu- 
lar poetry  of  a nation  proud,  haughty,  free,  and  engaged  in  continual  war- 
fai-e  against  enemies  of  different  faith  and  manners,  but  not  less  proud  and 
not  less  warlike  than  themselves.  Those  petty  disputes  and  dissensions 
which  so  long  divided  the  Christian  princes,  and,  consequently,  favored 
and  maintained  the  power  of  the  fomidable  enemy  whom  they  all  equally 
hated  ; those  struggles  between  prince  and  nobility,  which  were  productive 
of  similar  effects  after  the  crowns  of  Leon  and  Castile  had  been  united ; 
those  domestic  tragedies  which  so  often  stained  the  character  and  weakened 
the  arms  of  Spanish  kings  ; — in  a word,  all  the  principal  features  of  the. old 
Spanish  history  may  be  found,  more  or  less  distinctly  shadowed  forth, 
among  the  productions  of  these  unflattering  minstrels. 

Of  the  language  of  Spain,  as  it  existed  under  the  reign  of  the  Visigoth 
kings,  we  possess  no  monuments.  The  laws  and  the  chi’onicles  of  the 
period  were  equally  written  in  Latin  ; and  although  both,  in  all  probability, 
must  have  been  frequently  rendered  into  more  vulgar  dialects,  no  traces  of 
any  such  versions  have  survived  the  many  storms  and  straggles  of  religious 
and  political  dissension,  of  which  this  interesting  region  has  since  been 
made  the  scene.  To  what  precise  extent,  therefore,  the  language  and 
literatm-e  of  the  Peninsula  felt  the  influence  of  that  great  revolution  which 
subjected  the  far  larger  part  of  her  teiritoiy  to  the  sway  of  a Mussulman 
sceptre,  and  how  much  or  how  little  of  what  we  at  this  hour  admire  or  con- 
demn in  the  poetry  of  Portugal,  Aragon,  Castile,  is  really  not  of  Spanish, 
but  of  Moorish  origin,  — these  are  matters  which  have  divided  all  the 
great  writers  of  literaiy  history,  and  which  we,  in  truth,  have  little  chance 


XIV 


INTRODOCTION. 


of  ever  seeing  accurately  decided.  No  one,  however,  who  considers  of 
what  elements  the  Christian  population  of  Spain  was  originally  composed, 
and  in  what  shapes  the  mind  of  nations  every  way  kindred  to’that  popula- 
tion was  expressed  during  the  Middle  Ages,  can  have  any  doubt  that  great 
and  remarkable  influence  was  exerted  over  Spanish  thought  and  feeling  — 
and,  therefore,  over  Spanish  language  and  poetry  — by  the  influx  of  those 
Oriental  tribes  that  occupied,  for  seven  long  centuries,  the  fairest  prov- 
inces of  the  Peninsula. 

Spain,  although  of  all  the  countries  which  owned  the  authority  of  the 
Caliphs  she  was  the  most  remote  from  the  seat  of  their  empire,  appears  to 
have  been  the  very  first  in  point  of  cultivation  ; — her  governors  having,  for . 
at  least  two  centuries,  emulated  one  another  in  affording  every  species  of 
encouragement  and  protection  to  all  those  liberal  arts  and  sciences  which 
first  flourished  at  Bagdad  under  the  sway  of  Haroon  Al-Raschid,  and  his 
less  celebrated,  but  perhaps  still  more  enlightened  son,  Al-Mamoun.  Be- 
neadi  the  wise  and  munificent  patronage  of  these  rulers,  the  cities  of  Spain, 
witliin  three  hundred  years  after  the  defeat  of  King  Roderick,  had  been 
everywhere  penetrated  with  a spirit  of  elegance,  tastefulness,  and  philos- 
ophy, which  afforded  the  strongest  of  all  possible  contrasts  to  the  contem- 
porary condition  of  the  other  kingdoms  of  Europe.  At  Cordova,  Granada, 
Seville,  and  many  now  less  considerable  towns,  colleges  and  libraries  had 
been  founded  and  endowed  in  the  most  splendid  manner,  — where  the 
most  exact  and  the  most  elegant  of  sciences  were  cultivated  together  with 
equal  zeal.  Averroes  translated  and  expounded  Aristotle  at  Cordova; 
Ben-Zaid  and  Aboul-Mander  wrote  histories  of  their  nation  at  Valencia ; 
Abdcl-Maluk  set  the  first  example  of  that  most  interesting  and  useful 
species  of  writing,  by  which  Moreri  and  others  have  since  rendered  ser- 
vices so  important  to  ourselves ; and  even  an  Ai'abian  Encyclopaedia  was 
compiled,  under  the  direction  of  Mohammcd-Aba-Abdalla,  at  Granada. 
Ibn-el-Beither  went  forth  from  Malaga  to  search  through  all  the  mountains 
and  plains  of  Europe  for  everything  that  might  enable  him  to  perfect  Ills 
favorite  sciences  of  botany  and  lithology,  and  his  works  still  remain,  tw 
excite  the  admiration  of  all  who  are  in  a condition  to  comprehend  theuf 
value.  The  Jew  of  Tudela  was  the  worthy  successor  of  Galcu  and  Hq/- 


INTKODUCTIOS. 


X7 


pocrates  : while  chemistry,  and  other  branches  of  medical  science,  almost 
unknomi  to  the  ancients,  received  their  first  astonishing  developments 
from  Al-Kasi  and  Avicenna.  Rhetoric  and  poetiy  were  not  less  diligently 
studied ; and,  in  a word,  it  would  be  difficult  to  point  out,  in  the  whole  his- 
tory of  tlic  world,  a time  or  a country  where  the  activity  of  the  human  in- 
tellect was  more  extensively,  or  usefully,  or  gracefully  exerted  tlian  in 
Spain,  while  the  Mussulman  sceptre  yet  retained  any  portion  of  that  tdgor 
which  it  had  originally  received  from  the  conduct  and  heroism  of  Tarifa. 

Although  the  difference  of  religion  prevented  the  Moors  and  their  Span- 
ish subjects  from  ever  being  completely  melted  into  one  people,  yet  it 
appears  that  nothing  could,  on  the  whole,  be  more  mild  than  the  conduct 
of  the  Moorish  government  towards  the  Christian  population  of  the  country, 
during  this  their  splendid  period  of  undisturbed  dominion.  Their  learning 
and  their  arts  they  liberally  communicated  to  all  who  desired  such  partici- 
pation ; and  the  Christian  youth  studied  freely  and  honorably  at  the  feet 
of  Jewish  physicians  and  Mohammedan  philosophers.  Communication  of 
studies  and  acquirements,  continued  through  such  a space  of  years,  could 
not  have  failed  to  break  dow,  on  both  sides,  many  of  the  barriers  of  relig- 
ious prejudice,  and  to  nourish  a spirit  of  kindliness  and  charity  among  the 
more  cultivated  portions  of  cither  people.  The  intellect  of  the  Christian 
Spaniards  could  not  be  ungrateful  for  the  rich  gifts  it  was  every  day  re- 
ceirtng  from  their  misbelieving  masters  ; while  the  benevolence  tvith  which 
instructors  ever  regai-d  willing  disciples,  must  have  tempered  in  the  minds 
of  the  Arabs  the  sentiments  of  haughty  superiority  natural  to  the  breasts  of 
conquerors. 

By  degrees,  however,  the  scattered  remnants  of  unsubdued  Visigoths, 
who  had  sought  and  found  refuge  among  the  mountains  of  Asturias  and 
Galicia,  began  to  gather  the  strength  of  numbers  and  of  combination,  and 
the  Mussulmans  saw  different qjortions  of  their  empire  successfully  \vi-ested 
from  their  hands  by  leaders  whose  descendants  assumed  the  titles  of  Kings 
in  Oviedo  and  Navarre,  and  of  Counts  in  Castile,  Soprarhia,  Aragon,  and 
Barcelona.  From  the  time  when  these  principalities  were  established,  till 
all  their  strength  was  united  in  the  persons  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella,  a 
perpetual  war  may  be  said  to  have  subsisted  between  the  professors  of  die 


XVI 


INTRODUCTION. 


two  religions  ; and  the  natural  jealousy  of  Moorish  governors  must  l ave 
gradually,  l)ut  effectually,  diminished  the  comfort  of  the  Christians  who  yet 
lived  under  their  authority.  Were  we  to  seek  om-  ideas  of  the  period  only 
from  the  events  recorded  in  its  chronicles,  we  should  bo  led  to  believe  that 
nothing  could  be  more  deep  and  fervid  than  the  spirit  of  mutual  hostility 
which  prevailed  among  all  the  adherents  of  the  opposite  faiths  : hut  exter- 
nal events  are  sometimes  not  the  surest  guides  to  the  spirit  wlietlier  of 
peoples  or  of  ages,  and  the  ancient  popular  poetry  of  Spain  may  be  refeiTcd 
to  for  proofs,  which  cannot  be  considered  as  cither  of  dubious  or  of  trivial 
value,  that  the  rage  of  hostility  had  not  sunk  quite  so  far  as  might  have 
been  imagined  into  the  minds  and  hearts  of  very  many  that  were  engaged 
in  the  conflict. 

There  is  indeed  nothing  more  natural,  at  first  sight,  than  to  reason  in 
some  measure  from  a nation  as  it  is  in  our  own  day,  back  to  what  it  was 
a few  centuries  ago  ; but  nothing  could  tend  to  greater  mistakes  than  such 
a mode  of  judging  applied  to  the  case  of  Spain.  In  the  erect  and  higli- 
spirited  peasantry  of  that  country  we  still  see  the  genuine  and  uncoiTupted 
descendants  of  their  manly  forefathers  ; hut  in  every  other  part  of  the 
population  the  progress  of  coiTuption  appears  to  have  been  not  less  power- 
ful tlian  rapid  : and  the  higher  we  ascend  in  tlie  scale  of  society,  the  more 
distinct  and  mortifying  is  the  spectacle  of  moral,  not  less  than  of  physical 
deterioration.  This  universal  falling  off  of  men  may  bo  traced  very  easily 
to  a universal  falling  off  in  regard  to  every  point  of  faith  and  feeling  most 
essential  to  tlie  foraiation  and  preservation  of  a national  character.  Wo 
have  been  accustomed  to  consider  the  modern  Spaniards  as  the  most 
bigoted,  and  enslaved,  and  ignorant  of  Europeans  ; but  we  must  not  forget 
that  the  Spaniards  of  three  centuries  back  were,  in  all  respects,  a very 
different  sot  of  beings.  Castile,  in  the  first  regulation  of  her  constitution, 
was  its  free  as  any  nation  needs  to  be  for  all  the  ])ur])oses  of  social  security 
and  individual  happiness.  Her  kings  were  her  captains  and  her  judges, 
the  chiefs  and  the  models  of  a gallant  nobility,  and  the  protectors  of  a 
manly  and  independent  peasantry  : but  the  authority  with  which  they 
were  invested  was  guarded  by  the  most  accurate  limitations  ; nay,  in 
case  they  should  exceed  the  boundaiy  of  their  legal  power,  the  statute* 


INTlJODL^CTiOX. 


XVli 


book  of  the  realm  itself  contained  exact  rules  for  the  conduct  of  a constitu- 
tional insurrection  to  recall  them  to  their  duty,  or  to  punish  them  for  its 
desertion.  Every  order  of  society  had,  more  or  less  du'ectly,  its  represent- 
atives in  the  national  council ; every  Spaniard,  of  whatever  degree,  was 
penetrated  with  a sense  of  his  own  dignity  as  a freeman,  — his  own 
nobility  as  a descendant  of  the  Visigoths.  And  it  is  well  remarked  by  an 
elegant  liistorian  of'  our  day,*  that,  even  to  this  hour,  the  influence  of  tliis 
happy  order  of  things  still  continues  to  be  felt  in  Spain,  — wlicrc  manners, 
and  language,  and  literature,  have  all  received  indelibly  a stamp  of  courts, 
and  aristocracy,  and  proud  feeling,  — which  affords  a striking  contrast  to 
what  may  be  observed  in  modern  Italy,  where  the  only  freedom  that  ever 
existed  had  its  origin  and  residence  among  citizens  and  merchants. 

The  civil  liberty  of  the  old  Spaniards  could  scarcely  have  existed  so 
long  as  it  did,  in  tire  presence  of  any  feeling  so  black  and  noisome  as  the 
bigotry  of  modern  Spain ; but  this  was  never  tried  ; for  down  to  the  time 
of  Charles  V.  no  man  has  any  right  to  say  that  the  Spaniards  were  a 
bigoted  people.  One  of  the  worst  features  of  their  modern  bigotry  — their 
extreme  and  servile  subjection  to  the  authority  of  the  Pope  — is  entirely 
a-wanting  in  the  picture  of  their  ancient  spirit.  In  the  twelfth  century, 
the  Kings  of  Ai'agon  were  the  protectors  of  the  Albigenses ; and  their 
Pedro  II.  himself  died,  in  1213,  fighting  bravely  against  the  red  cross,  for 
the  cause  of  tolerance.  In  1268,  two  brothers  of  the  King  of  Castile  left 
the  banners  of  tlie  Injidels,  beneath  which  they  were  serving  at  Tunis,  with 
eight  hundred  Castilian  gentlemen,  for  the  purpose  of  coming  to  Italy  and 
assisting  the  Neapolitans  in  their  resistance  to  the  tyranny  of  the  Pope 
and  Charles  of  Anjou.  In  the  great  schism  of  the  West,  as  it  is  called 
(1378),  Pedro  IV.  embraced  the  party  which  the  Catholic  Churcli  regards 
as  schismatic.  That  feud  was  not  allayed  for  more  than  a hundred  years, 
and  Alphonso  V.  was  well  paid  for  consenting  to  lay  it  aside  ; while,  down 
to  the  time  of  Charles  V.,  the  whole  of  the  Neapolitan  princes  of  the  House 
of  Aragon  may  be  said  to  have  lived  in  a state  of  open  enmity  against  the 
Papal  See,  — sometimes  excommunicated  for  generations  together,  sel- 


* Sismondi’s  Literature  du  Midi. 


2 


xriii 


INTRODUCTION. 

doin  apparently,  never  cordially  reconciled.  When,  finally,  Ferdinand  the 
Catliolic  made  his  first  attempt  to  introduce  the  Inquisition  into  his  king- 
dom, almost  tlic  whole  nation  took  up  arms  to  resist  him.  The  Grand 
Inquisitor  was  killed,  and  every  one  of  his  creatures  was  compelled  to  leave, 
for  a season,  the  yet  free  soil  of  Aragon. 

But  the  strongest  and  best  proof  of  the  comparative  liberality  of  the 
old  Spaniards  is,  as  I liave  already  said,  to  be  found  in  their  Ballads. 
Tliroughout  the  far  greater  part  of  those  compositions,  there  breathes  a 
certain  spirit  of  charity  and  humanity  towards  those  Moorish  enemies  with 
whom  the  combats  of  the  national  heroes  are  represented.  The  Spaniards 
and  the  Moors  lived  together  in  their  villages,  beneath  the  calmest  of  skies, 
and  surrounded  with  the  most  beautiful  of  landscapes.  In  spite  of  their 
adverse  faiths,  in  spite  of  their  adverse  interests,  they  had  much  in  common. 
Loves,  and  sports,  and  recreations;  — nay, sometimes  their  haughtiest  rec- 
ollections were  in  common,  and  even  their  heroes  were  the  same.  Ber- 
nardo del  Carpio,  Fernan  Gonzalez,  the  Cid  himself,  — almost  every  one 
of  the  favorite  licroes  of  the  Spanish  nation,  had,  at  some  period  or  other  of 
his  life,  fought  beneath  the  standard  of  the  Crescent,  and  the  minstrels  of 
cither  nation  miglit,  therefore,  in  regard  to  some  instances  at  least,  have 
equal  ])ride  in  the  celebration  of  their  prowess.  The  praises  whiclt  the 
Arab  poets  granted  to  them  in  their  UrouwachcJiali,  ov  <j mile  verses,  were  re- 
paid by  liberal  encomiums  on  Moorish  valor  and  generosity  in  Castilian 
and  Aragonese  Redondillas.  Even  in  the  ballads  most  exclusively  devoted 
to  the  celebration  of  feats  of  Spanish  heroism,  it  is  quite  common  to  find 
some  redeeming  compliment  to  the  Moors  mixed  with  the  strain  of  exulta- 
tion. Nay,  even  in  the  more  remote  and  ideal  chivalries  celebrated  in  the 
Castilian  Ballads,  the  parts  of  glory  and  greatness  arc  almost  as  frequently 
attributed  to  Moors  as  to  Christians ; — Calaynos  was  a name  as  familiar 
as  Ga3Teros.  At  a somewhat  later  period,  when  the  conquest  of  Granada 
had  mingled  the  Spaniards  still  more  effectually  with  the  persons  and 
manners  of  the  Moors,  we  find  the  Spanish  poets  still  fonder  of  celebrating 
the  heroic  achievements  of  their  old  Saracen  rivals ; and,  without  doubt, 
this  their  liberality  towards  the  “ Knights  of  Granada,  Gentlemen,  albeit 
Moors,”  — 


INTRODUCTION. 


X15 


Caballeros  Granadinos, 

Aunq^ue  Mores  hijos  d’algo,  — 

must  have  been  very  gratifj-ing  to  the  former  subjects  of  “ The  Baby 
King.”  It  must  have  counteracted  the  bigotry  of  Confessors  and  Mol- 
lahs,  and  tended  to  inspire  both  nations  with  sentiments  of  kindness  and 
mutual  esteem. 

Bernard  of  Carpio,  above  all  the  rest,  was  the  common  property  and 
pride  of  both  peoples.  Of  his  all-romantic  life,  the  most  romantic  inci- 
dents belonged  equally  to  both.  It  was  with  Moors  that  he  allied  himself 
when  he  rose  up  to  demand  vengeance  from  King  Alphonso  for  the  mur- 
der of  his  father.  It  was  with  Moorish  brethren  in  arms  that  he  marched 
to  fight  against  the  Frankish  army  for  the  independence  of  the  Spanish  soil. 
It  was  in  front  of  a half  Leonese,  half  Moorish  host,  that  Bernard  couched 
his  lance,  victorious  alike  over  valor  and  magic : — 

When  Rowland  brave  and  Olivier, 

And  every  Paladin  and  Peer, 

On  Roncesvalles  died. 

A few  Ballads,  unquestionably  of  Moorish  origin,  and  apparently  rather  of 
the  romantic  than  of  the  historical  class,  ai-e  given  in  a section  by  themselves. 
The  originals  are  valuable,  as  monuments  of  the  manners  and  customs  of 
a most  singular  race.  Composed  originally  by  a Moor  or  a Spaniard,  — 
it  is  often  very  difficult  to  determine  by  which  of  the  rtvo,  — they  were 
sung  in  the  villages  of  Andalusia  in  either  language,  but  to  the  same  tunes, 
and  listened  to  with  equal  pleasure  by  man,  woman,  and  child,  — Mussul- 
man and  Christian.  In  these  strains,  whatever  other  merits  or  demerits 
they  may  possess,  we  are,  at  least,  presented  with  a lively  pictui'e  of  the 
life  of  the  Arabian  Spaniard.  We  see  liim  as  he  was  in  reality,  “like  steel 
among  weapons,  like  wax  among  women,”  — 

Fuerte  qual  aaero  entre  armaa, 

T qual  cera  entre  las  damas. 

There  came,  indeed,  a time  when  the  fondness  of  the  Spaniards  for  their 
Moorish  Ballads  was  made  matter  of  reproach ; — but  this  was  not  till  long 
after  the  period  when  Spanish  bravery  had  won  back  the  last  fragments  ot 


XX 


INTRODUCTION. 


t]ic  rcninsula  from  Moorish  liands.  It  was  thus  that  a Spanish  poet  of  tho 
after-day  expressed  himself : — 

Vayase  con  Dios  Gazul ! 

Lleve  el  diablo  -k  Celiodaxa ! 

Y buelvan  estas  marlotas 

A qnien  se  las  dio  prestadas ! 

Que  quiere  Dona  Maria 
Ver  baylar  a Dona  Juana, 

Una  gallarda  espanola, 

Que  no  ay  dan^a  mas  gallarda : 

Y Don  Pedro  y Don  Rodrigo 
Vestir  otras  mas  galanas, 

Ver  quien  son  estos  danzantes 

Y conocer  estas  damas ; 

Y el  Senor  Alcayde  quiere 
Saber  quien  es  Abenamar, 

Estos  Zegris  y Aliatares, 

Adulces,  Zaydes,  y Ahdallas  ; 

Y de  que  repartimiento 
Son  Celinda  y Guadalara, 

Estos  Moros  y Estas  Moras 
Que  en  todas  las  bodas  danzan  ; 

Y por  hablarlo  mas  claro, 

Assi  tenguan  buena  pascua, 

Ha  venido  k su  noticia 

Que  ay  Cristianos  en  Espana. 

These  sarcasms  were  not  -without  their  answer ; for  says  another  poem 
in  the  Romancero  General : -• — 

Si  es  Espanol  Don  Rodrigo, 

Espanol  fue  el  fuerte  Andalla ; 

Y sepa  cl  Senor  Alcayde 
Que  tambien  lo  es  Guadalara. 


IXTRODUCTION. 


XXI 


But  the  best  argument  follows  : — 

No  es  culpa  si  de  los  Moros 
Los  valieutes  liechos  cantau, 

Pues  tanto  raas  resplendecen 
Nuestras  celebras  hazanas. 

The  greater  part  of  die  Moorish  Ballads  refer  to  the  period  immediately 
preceiling  the  downfall  of  the  tlu-one  of  Granada,  — the  amours  of  that 
splendid  court,  — the  bull-feasts  and  other  spectacles  in  wliich  its  lords  and 
ladies  delighted  no  less  than  those  of  the  Christian  courts  of  Spain,  — the 
bloodv  feuds  of  the  two  great  families  of  the  Zegris  and  the  Abencerrages, 
which  contributed  so  largely  to  the  ruin  of  the  Moorish  cause,  — and  the 
incidents  of  that  last  war  itself,  in  wliich  the  power  of  the  Mussulman  -was 
entirely  overtlu-omi  by  the  arms  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella.  To  some 
readers  it  may  perhaps  occur,  that  the  part  ascribed  to  Moorish  females  in 
these  Ballads  is  not  always  exactly  in  the  Oriental  taste ; but  the  pictures 
still  extant  on  the  walls  of  the  Alhambra  contain  abundant  proofs  how 
unfair  it  would  be  to  judge,  from  the  manners  of  any  Mussulman  nation  of 
our  day,  of  those  of  the  refined  and  elegant  Spanish  Moors. 

The  specimens  of  which  the  thu-d  and  largest  section  consists  are  taken 
from  amongst  the  vast  multitude  of  miscellaneous  and  romantic  Ballads  in 
the  old  Cancioncros.  The  subjects  of  a number  of  these  are  derived  from 
the  fabulous  Chronicle  of  Turpin ; and  the  Knights  of  Charlemagne’s 
Round  Table  appear  in  all  their  gigantic  lineaments.  But  the  greater  part 
are  formed  precisely  of  the  same  sort  of  materials  which  supplied  our  own 
ancient  ballad  makers.* 


* The  reader  is  referred,  for  much  valuable  information  concerning  the  Spanish  min- 
strelsy, to  an  article  on  these  translations  which  appeared  in  the  “ Edinburgh  Review,’* 
No.  146 ; — and  which  is  now  known  to  have  been  written  by  Mr.  Ford,  the  learned 
author  of  the  “ Handbook  for  Spain.”  1853. 


Edinbcrgh.  1823 


CONTENTS. 


mSTOKICAL  BALLADS. 

Page 

THE  LAMENTATION  OF  DON  RODERICK 27 

THE  PENITENCE  OF  DON  RODERICK 29 

THE  MARCH  OF  BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO 32 

THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA  ....  34 

THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA 35 

BERNARDO  AND  ALPHONSO 37 

THE  MAIDEN  TRIBUTE 39 

THE  ESCAPE  OF  COUNT  FERNAN  GONZALEZ 42 

THE  SEVEN  HEADS 46 

THE  VENGEANCE  OF  MUDARA 51 

THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY  THERESA 52 

THE  Y'OUNG  CID 55 

XLMENA  DEMANDS  VENGEANCE  57 

THE  CID  AND  THE  FIVE  MOORISH  KINGS 59 

THE  CID’S  COURTSHIP 60 

THE  CID'S  -WEDDING 62 

THE  CID  AND  THE  LEPER 64 

BAVIECA 66 

THE  E.YCOMMUNICATION  OF  THE  CID ' . 68 

GARCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS 70 

THE  POUNDER 73 

THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER 75 

THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE 79 

THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO 81 

THE  PROCLAMATION  OF  KING  HENRY 85 


XXIV 


CONTENTS. 


THE  I.ORD  OP  BUTRAGO  . 89 

THE  KING  OF  ARAGON 91 

THE  VOW  OF  RKDUAN 92 

THE  FLIGHT  FROM  GRANAPA 94 

THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR 96 

THE  DEPARTURE  OF  KING  SEBASTIAN 99 

MOORISH  BAI.LADS. 

THE  BULL-FIGHT  OF  GAZUL 101 

THE  ZEGRI’S  BRIDE 104 

THE  BRIDAL  OF  ANDALLA 105 

ZARA’S  EAR-RINGS  . 107 

THE  lamentation  FOR  CELIN 108 

ROMANTIC  BALLADS. 

the  MOOR  CALAYNOS 113 

THE  ESCAPE  OF  GAYFEROS 117 

MELISENDRA 120 

LADY  ALDA’S  DREAM 122 

THE  ADMIRAL  GUARINOS 124 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  TREE 129 

THE  AVENGING  CHILDE 131 

COUNT  ARNALDOS 133 

SONG  FOR  THE  MORNING  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST  . . . 135 

JULIANA 137 

THE  SONG  OF  THE  GALLEY 138 

THE  WANDERING  KNIGHT’S  SONG 139 

SERENADE 140 

THE  CAPTIVE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD  ....  141 

VALLADOLID 143 

DRAGUT,  THE  CORSAIR 144 

COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLISA 145 


HISTORICAL  BALLADS. 


THE  LAMENTATION  OF  DON  EODERICK. 


[The  treason  of  Count  Julian,  and  indeed  the  whole  history  of  King  Roder- 
ick and  the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  monarchy  in  Spain,  have  been  so  effectually 
made  known  to  the  English  reader  by  Mr.  Southey  and  Sir  Walter  Scott,  that 
it  would  be  impertinent  to  say  anything  of  these  matters  here.  The  ballad,  a 
version  of  which  follows,  appears  to  be  one  of  the  oldest  among  the  great  num- 
ber relating  to  the  ^Moorish  conquest  of  Spain.  One  verse  of  it  is  quoted,  and 
several  parodied,  in  the  Second  Part  of  Don  Quixote,  in  the  inimitable  chapter 
of  the  Puppet-Show:  — 

“The  general  rout  of  the  puppets  being  over,  Don  Quixote’s  fury  began  to 
abate;  and,  with  a more  pacified  countenance,  turning  to  the  company.  Well, 
now,  said  he,  when  all  is  done,  long  live  knight-errantry;  long  let  it  live,  I say 
above  all  things  whatsoever  in  this  world ! — Ay,  ay,  said  Master  Peter,  in  a 
doleful  tone,  — let  it  live  long  for  me,  so  I may  die;  for  why  should  I live  so 
unhappy  as  to  say  with  King  Rodrigo,  Yesterday  [ was  lord  of  Spain,  to-day 
have  not  a foot  of  land  I can  call  mine  f It  is  not  half  an  hour,  nay,  scarce  a 
moment,  since  I had  kings  and  emperors  at  command.  I had  horses  in  abun- 
dance, and  chests  and  bags  full  of  fine  things;  but  now  you  see  me  a poor,  sorry, 
undone  man,  quite  and  clean  broke  and  cast  down,  and,  in  short,  a mere  beg- 
gar. What  is  worst  of  all,  I have  lost  my  ape  too,  who  I am  sure  will  make 
me  sweat  ere  I catch  him  again.”] 


The  hosts  of  Don  Eodrigo  were  scattered  in  dismay, 

Wlien  lost  was  the  eighth  battle,  nor  heart  nor  hope  had  they  ; 
He,  when  he  saw  that  field  was  lost,  and  all  his  hope  was  flown. 
He  tm-ned  him  from  his  flying  host,  and  took  his  way  alone. 


28 


THE  LAMENTATION  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


His  horse  was  bleeding,  blind,  and  lame,  — he  could  no  farther  go  ; 
Dismounted,  without  path  or  aim,  the  King  stepped  to  and  fro  ; 

It  was  a sight  of  pity  to  look  on  Eoderick, 

For,  sore  athu-st  and  hungry,  he  staggered  faint  and  sick. 

All  stained  and  strewed  with  dust  and  blood,  like  to  some  smouldering  brand 
Plucked  from  the  flame,  Kodrigo  showed  : his  sword  was  in  his  hand, 

But  it  was  hacked  into  a saw  of  dark  and  purple  tint ; 

His  jewelled  mall  had  many  a flaw,  his  helmet  many  a dint. 

He  climbed  unto  a hill-top,  the  highest  he  could  see,  — 

Thence  all  about  of  that  wide  rout  his  last  long  look  took  he ; 

He  saw  his  royal  banners,  where  they  lay  drenched  and  tom. 

He  heard  the  ciy  of  victory,  the  Ai-ab’s  shout  of  scorn. 

He  looked  for  the  brave  captains  that  led  the  hosts  of  Spain, 

But  all  were  fled  except  the  dead,  and  who  could  count  the  slain '? 

Where’er  his  eye  could  wander,  all  bloody  was  the  plain. 

And,  while  thus  he  said,  the  tears  he  shed  run  down  his  cheeks  like  rain : — 

“ Last  night  I was  the  King  of  Spain,  — to-day  no  king  am  I ; 

Last  night  fair  castles  held  my  train,  — to-night  where  shall  I lie  ? 

Last  night  a hundred  pages  did  serve  me  on  the  knee,  — 

To-night  not  one  I call  mine  own  : — not  one  pertains  to  me. 

“ 0,  luckless,  luckless  was  the  hour,  and  cursed  was  the  day. 

When  I was  bom  to  have  the  power  of  this  great  seniory  ! 

Unhappy  me,  that  I should  see  the  sun  go  down  to-night ! 

0 Death,  why  now  so  slow  art  thou,  why  fearest  thou  to  smite  ? ” 


THE  PENITENCE  OF  DON  ilODEKICK. 


29 


THE  PENITENCE  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


[This  ballad  also  is  quoted  in  Don  Quixote.  “ And  let  me  tell  you  again, 
(quoth  Sancho  Panza  to  the  Duchess,)  if  you  don’t  think  fit  to  give  me  an 
island  because  I am  a fool,  I will  be  so  wise  as  not  to  care  whether  you  do  or 
no.  It  is  an  old  saying,  The  Devil  lurks  behind  the  cross.  All  is  not  gold  that 
glisters.  From  the  tail  of  the  plough  Bamba  was  made  King  of  Spain;  and 
from  his  silks  and  riches  was  Rodrigo  cast  to  be  devoured  by  the  snakes,  if  the 
old  ballads  say  true,  and  sure  they  are  too  old  to  tell  a lie.  That  they  are,  in- 
deed, (said  Dona  Rodriguez,  the  old  waiting-woman,  who  listened  among  the 
rest.)  for  I remember,  one  of  the  ballads  tells  us  how  Don  Rodrigo  was  shut 
up  alive  in  a tomb  full  of  toads,  snakes,  and  lizards;  and  how,  after  two  days, 
he  was  heard  to  cry  out  of  the  tomb  in  a loud  and  doleful  voice,  Now  they  eal 
me,  now  they  gnaw  me,  in  the  part  where  I sinned  most.  And  according  to  this 
the  gentleman  is  in  the  right  in  saying  he  had  ratlier  be  a poor  laborer  than  a 
king,  to  be  gnawed  to  death  by  vermin.” 

There  is  a little  difference  between  the  text  in  the  Cancionero,  and  the  copy 
of  the  ballad  which  Dona  Rodriguez  quotes;  but  I think  the  effect  is  better 
when  there  is  only  one  snake  than  when  the  tomb  is  full  of  them.] 


It  was  w'hen  the  King  Rodrigo  had  lost  his  realm  of  Spain, 

In  doleful  plight  he  held  his  flight  o’er  Guadelete’s  plain  ; 

Afar  from  the  fierce  Moslem  he  fain  would  hide  his  woe, 

And  up  among  the  wilderness  of  mountains  he  would  go. 

There  lay  a shepherd  by  the  rill  with  all  his  flock  beside  him ; 
He  asked  him  where  upon  his  hill  a weary  man  might  hide  him. 
“ Not  for,”  quoth  he,  “ within  the  wood  dwells  our  old  Eremite  ; 
He  in  his  holy  solitude  will  hide  ye  all  the  night.” 


30 


THE  PENITENCE  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


“ Good  friend,”  quoth  he,  “ I hunger.”  “Alas  ! ” the  shepherd  said, 

“ My  scrip  no  more  containeth  but  one  little  loaf  of  bread.” 

The  weary  King  was  thankful,  the  poor  man’s  loaf  he  took ; 

He  by  him  sat,  and,  wliile  he  ate,  his  tears  fell  in  the  brook. 

From  underneath  his  garment  the  King  unlocked  his  chain, 

A golden  chain  with  many  a link,  and  the  royal  ring  of  Spain  ; 

He  gave  them  to  the  wondering  man,  and  with  heavy  steps  and  slow 
He  up  the  wild  his  way  began,  to  the  hermitage  to  go. 

The  sun  had  just  descended  into  the  western  sea. 

And  the  holy  man  was  sitting  in  the  breeze  beneath  his  tree. 

“ I come,  I come,  good  father,  to  beg  a boon  from  thee  : 

This  night  within  thy  hermitage  give  shelter  unto  me.” 

The  old  man  looked  upon  the  King,  — he  scanned  him  o’er  and  o’er,  — 
He  looked  with  looks  of  wondering,  — he  maiwelled  more  and  more. 
With  blood  and  dust  distained  was  the  gannent  tliat  he  wore. 

And  yet  in  utmost  misery  a kingly  look  he  bore. 

“ Who  art  thou,  weary  stranger  1 This  path  why  hast  thou  ta’cn  1 ” 

“ I am  Rodrigo  ; — yesterday  men  called  me  King  of  Spain  : 

I come  to  make  my  penitence  within  this  lonely  place ; 

Good  father,  take  thou  no  offence,  for  God  and  Mary’s  grace.” 

The  Hermit  looked  with  feai-fiil  eye  upon  Rodrigo’s  face  : 

“ Son,  mercy  dwells  ^yith  the  Most  High,  — not  hopeless  is  thy  case  ; 
Thus  far  thou  well  hast  chosen,  — I to  the  Lord  will  pray  ; 

He  will  reveal  what  penance  may  wash  thy  sin  away.” 

Now,  God  us  shield  ! it  was  revealed  that  he  his  bed  must  make 
Within  a tomb,  and  share  its  gloom  wdth  a black  and  living*  snake. 
Rodrigo  bowed  his  humbled  head  when  God’s  command  he  heard. 

And  with  the  snake  prepared  his  bed,  according  to  the  word. 


THE  PENITENCE  OF  DON  RODERICK. 


31 


The  holy  Hermit  waited  till  the  third  day  was  gone,  — 

Then  knocked  he  with  his  finger  upon  the  cold  tombstone ; 

“ Grood  King,  good  King,”  the  Hermit  said,  “ an  answer  give  to  me ; 
How  fares  it  with  thy  darksome  bed  and  dismal  company  1 ” 

“ Gtood  father,”  said  Rodrigo,  “ the  shake  hath  touched  me  not ; 
Pray  for  me,  holy  Hermit,  — I need  thy  prayers,  God  wot ; 

Because  the  Lord  his  anger  keeps,  I lie  unharmed  here  ; 

The  sting  of  earthly  vengeance  sleeps,  — a worser  pain  I fear.” 

The  Eremite  his  breast  did  smite  when  thus  he  heard  him  say ; 

He  ttimed  him  to  his  cell,  — that  night  he  loud  and  long  did  pray  : 
At  morning  hour  he  came  again,  — then  doleful  moans  heard  he  ; 
Prom  out  the  tomb  the  cry  did  come  of  gna^ving  misery. 

He  spake,  and  heard  Rodrigo’s  voice  : “ O Father  Eremite, 

He  eats  me  now,  he  eats  me  now,  I feel  the  adder’s  bite  ; 

The  part  that  was  most  sinning  my  bedfellow  doth  rend  ; 

There  had  my  curse  beginning,  God  grant  it  there  may  end  ! ” 

The  holy  man  made  answer  in  words  of  hopeful  strain  ; 

He  bade  him  trust  the  body’s  pang  would  save  the  spirit’s  pain. 

Thus  died  the  good  Rodrigo,  thus  died  the  King  of  Spain, 

Washed  from  offence  the  spirit  hence  to  God  its  flight  hath  ta’en. 


82 


THE  MARCH  OF  BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO. 


THE  MARCH  OF  BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO. 


[Of  BernarJo  del  Carpio  we  find  little  or  nothing  in  the  French  romances  of 
Charlemagne.  He  belongs  exclusively  to  Spanish  History,  or  rather  perhaps 
to  Spanish  Romance.  The  continence  which  procured  for  Alphonso  (who  suc- 
ceeded to  the  precarious  throne  of  the  Christians  in  the  Asturias  about  795)  the 
epithet  of  The  Chaste,  was  not  universal  in  his  family.  By  an  intrigue  with 
Sancho  Diaz,  Count  of  Saldana,  or  Saldena,  Dona  Xiraena,  sister  of  this  virtu- 
ous prince,  bore  a son.  Some  chroniclers  attempt  to  gloss  over  this  incident, 
by  alleging  that  a private  maiTiage  had  taken  place  between  the  lovers : but 
King  Alphonso,  who  was  well-nigh  sainted  for  living  only  in  Platonic  union 
vrith  his  wife  Bertha,  took  the  scandal  greatly  to  heart.  He  shut  up  the  pec- 
cant princess  in  a cloister,  and  imprisoned  her  gallant  in  the  castle  of  Luna, 
where  he  caused  him  to  be  deprived  of  sight.  Fortunately,  lus  wrath  did  not 
extend  to  the  offspring  of  their  stolen  affections,  Bernardo  del  Carpio.  When 
the  youth  had  grown  up  to  manhood,  Alphonso,  according  to  the  Spanish 
chroniclers,  invited  the  Emperor  Charlemagne  into  Spain,  and  having  neg- 
lected to  raise  up  heirs  for  the  kingdom  of  the  Goths  in  the  ordinary  manner, 
he  proposed  the  inheritance  of  his  throne  as  the  price  of  the  alliance  of  Charles. 
But  the  nobility,  headed  by  Bernardo,  remonstrated  against  the  King’s  choice 
of  a successor,  and  would  on  no  account  consent  to  receive  a Frenchman  as 
the  heir  of  their  crown.  Alphonso  himself  repented  of  the  invitation  he  had 
given  to  Charlemagne,  and  when  that  champion  of  Christendom  came  to  expel 
the  Moors  from  Spain,  he  found  the  conscientious  and  chaste  Alphonso  had 
united  with  the  infidels  against  him.  An  engagement  took  place  in  the  re- 
nowned pass  of  Eoncesvalles,  in  which  the  French  were  defeated,  and  the  cele- 
brated Roland,  or  Orlando,  was  slain.  The  victory  was  ascribed  chiefly  to  the 
prowess  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio. 

The  following  ballad  describes  the  enthusiasm  excited  among  the  Leonese 
when  Bernardo  first  raised  his  standard  to  oppose  the  progress  of  Charlemagne’s 
army.] 


THE  MARCH  OF  BERNARDO  DEL  CARPIO. 


33 


With  three  thousand  men  of  Leon,  from  the  city  Bernard  goes, 

To  protect  the  soil  Hispanian  from  the  spear  of  Frankish  foes  : 

From  the  city  which  is  planted  in  the  midst  between  the  seas. 

To  preseiwe  the  name  and  gloiy  of  old  Pelayo’s  idctories. 

The  peasant  hears  upon  his  field  the  ti-umpet  of  the  knight,  — 

He  quits  his  team  for  spear  and  shield  and  garniture  of  might ; 

The  shepherd  hears  it  ’mid  the  mist,  — he  flingeth  down  his  crook. 

And  rushes  fi'om  the  mountain  like  a tempest-troubled  brook. 

The  youth  who  shows  a maiden’s  chin,  whose  brows  have  ne’er  been  bound 
The  helmet’s  heavy  ring  within,  gains  manhood  from  the  sound  ; 

The  hoary  sire  beside  the  fire  forgets  his  feebleness, 

Once  more  to  feel  the  cap  of  steel  a warrior’s  ringlets  press. 

As  through  the  gien  his  speai-s  did  gleam,  these  soldiers  from  the  hills. 
They  swelled  his  host  as  mountain-stream  receives  the  roaring  rills ; 

They  round  his  banner  flocked  in  scorn  of  haughty  Charlemagne,  — 

And  thus  upon  their  swords  are  sworn  the  faithful  sons  of  Spain. 

“ Free  were  we  bom,”  — ’t  is  thus  they  cry,  — “ though  to  our  Bang  we  owe 
The  homage  and  the  fealty  behind  his  crest  to  go  ; 

By  God’s  behest  our  aid  he  shares,  but  God  did  ne’er  command 
That  we  should  leave  our  children  heirs  of  an  enslaved  land. 

“ Our  breasts  are  not  so  timorous,  nor  are  our  arms  so  weak, 

Nor  are  our  veins  so  bloodless,  that  we  our  vow  should  break, 

T o sell  our  freedom  for  tlie  fear  of  Prince  or  Paladin  ; 

At  least  we  ’ll  sell  our  birthright  dear,  — no  bloodless  prize  they  ’U  win. 

“ At  least  King  Charles,  if  God  decrees  he  must  be  lord  of  Spain, 

Shall  witness  that  the  Leonese  were  not  aroused  in  vain  ; 

He  shall  bear  witness  that  we  died  as  lived  our  sires  of  old,  — 

Nor  only  of  Numantium’s  pride  shall  minstrel  tales  be  told. 

3 


34 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA. 


“ The  Lion  that  hath  bathed  his  paws  in  seas  of  Libyan  gore. 
Shall  he  not  battle  for  the  laws  and  liberties  of  yore  1 
Anointed  cravens  may  give  gold  to  whom  it  likes  them  well, 
But  steadfast  lieart  and  spirit  bold  Alphonso  ne’er  shall  sell. 


THE  COMPLAINT  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA. 


[This  ballad  is  intended  to  represent  the  feelings  of  Don  Sancho,  Count  of 
Saldana,  while  imprisoned  by  King  Alphonso,  and,  as  he  supposed,  neglected 
and  forgotten  both  by  his  wife,  or  rather  mistress.  Dona  Ximeua,  and  by  his 
son,  Bernardo  del  Carpio.] 


The  Count  Don  Sancho  Dias,  the  Signior  of  Saldane,  , 

Lies  weeping  in  his  prison,  for  he  cannot  refrain  : 

King  Alphonso  and  his  sister,  of  both  doth  he  complain. 

But  most  of  bold  Bernardo,  the  champion  of  Spain. 

“ The  weary  years  I durance  brook,  how  many  they  have  been. 

When  on  these  hoaiy  hairs  I look  may  easily  be  seen  ; 

When  they  brought  me  to  this  castle,  my  curls  w^ere  black  I ween. 

Woe  worth  the  day  ! they  have  grown  gray  these  rueful  walls  between. 

“ They  tell  me  my  Bernardo  is  the  doughtiest  lance  in  Spain, 

But  if  he  were  my  loyal  heir,  there ’s  blood  in  every  vein 

Whereof  the  voice  his  heart  would  hear,  — his  hand  would  not  gainsay  ; 

Though  the  blood  of  kings  bo  mixed  with  mine,  it  would  not  have  all  the  sway. 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA. 


35 


“ Now  all  the  three  have  scorn  of  me  : unhappy  man  am  I ! 

They  leave  me  -nitliont  pity,  — they  leave  me  here  to  die. 

A stranger’s  feud,  albeit  rude,  were  little  dole  or  care, 

But  he ’s  my  own,  both  flesh  and  bone ; liis  scorn  is  ill  to  bear. 

“ From  Jailer  and  fi-om  Castellain  I hear  of  hardiment 
And  chivalry  in  listed  plain  on  joust  and  tourney  spent ; 

I hear  of  many  a battle  in  which  thy  spear  is  red. 

But  help  from  thee  comes  none  to  me  where  I am  ill  bestead. 

“ Some  villain  spot  is  in  thy  blood  to  mar  its  gentle  strain. 

Else  would  it  show  forth  hardihood  for  him  from  whom ’t  was  ta’en ; 
Thy  hope  is  young,  thy  heart  is  strong,  but  yet  a day  may  be 
When  thou  shalt  weep  in  dungeon  deep,  and  none  thy  weeping  see.” 


THE  FUNERAL  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA. 


[According  to  the  Chronicle,  Bernardo,  being  at  last  wearied  out  of  all  pa- 
tience by  the  cruelty  of  which  his  father  was  the  victim,  determined  to  quit  the 
court  of  his  King  and  seek  an  alliance  among  the  Moors.  Having  fortified  him- 
self in  the  castle  of  Carpio,  he  made  continual  incursions  into  the  territory  of 
Leon,  pillaging  and  plundering  wherever  he  came.  The  King  at  length  be- 
sieged him  in  his  strong-hold;  but  the  defence  was  so  gallant  that  there  appeared 
no  prospect  of  success ; whereupon  many  of  the  gentlemen  in  Alphonso’s  camp 
entreated  the  King  to  offer  Bernardo  immediate  possession  of  his  father’s  person, 
if  he  would  sun-ender  his  castle. 

Bernardo  at  once  consented;  but  the  King  gave  orders  to  have  Count  Sancho 
Diaz  taken  off  instantly  in  his  prison.  “ When  he  was  dead,  they  clothed  him 


36 


THE  FUNEKAL  OF  THE  COUNT  OF  SALDANA. 


in  splendid  attire,  mounted  him  on  horseback,  and  so  led  him  towards  Sala- 
manca, where  his  son  was  expecting  liis  arrival.  As  they  drew  nigh  the  city, 
the  King  and  Bernardo  rode  out  to  meet  them ; and  when  Bernardo  saw  his 
father  approaching,  he  exclaimed,  0 God!  is  the  Count  of  Saldana  indeed 
coming  ? — Look  where  he  is,  replied  the  cruel  King  ; and  now  go  and  greet  him 
whom  you  so  long  desired  to  see.  Bernardo  went  forward  and  took  Iris  father’s 
hand  to  kiss  it;  but  when  he  felt  the  dead  weight  of  the  hand,  and  saw  the 
livid  face  of  the  corpse,  he  cried  aloud,  and  said.  Ah,  Don  San  Diaz,  in  an 
evil  hour  didst  thou  beget  me  ! Thou  art  dead,  and  I have  given  my  strong-hold 
for  thee,  and  now  I have  lost  all."'\ 


All  in  the  centre  of  the  choir  Bernardo’s  knees  are  bent ; 

Before  him,  for  his  murdered  sire  yawns  the  old  monument. 

His  kinsmen  of  the  Carpio  blood  are  kneeling  at  his  back, 

With  knightly  friends  and  vassals  good,  all  garbed  in  weeds  of  black. 

He  comes  to  make  the  obsequies  of  a basely-slaughtered  man. 

And  tears  are  running  down  from  eyes  whence  ne’er  before  they  ran. 

His  head  is  bowed  upon  the  stone ; his  heart,  albeit  full  sore, 

Ts  strong  as  when  in  days  bygone  he  rode  o’er  Frank  and  Moor ; 

And  now  between  liis  teeth  he  mutters,  that  none  his  words  can  hear ; 

And  now  the  voice  of  wrath  he  utters  in  em'ses  loud  and  clear. 

He  stoops  him  o’er  his  father’s  shroud,  his  lips  salute  the  bier ; 

He  communes  with  the  corse  aloud,  as  if  none  else  were  near. 

His  right  hand  doth  his  sw'ord  unsheathe,  his  left  doth  pluck  his  beard ; 
And  while  his  liegemen  held  their  breath,  these  were  the  words  they  heard  : — 

“ Go  up,  go  uji;  thou  blessed  ghost,  into  the  hands  of  God  ; 

Go,  fear  not  lest  revenge  be  lost,  when  Carpio’s  blood  hath  flowed ; 

The  steel  that  drank  the  blood  of  France,  the  arm  thy  foe  that  shielded. 
Still,  father,  thirsts  that  burning  lance,  and  still  thy  son  can  wield  it.” 


BERNARDO  AND  ALPHONSO. 


87 


BERNARDO  AND  ALPHONSO. 


[The  incident  recorded  in  this  ballad  may  be  supposed  to  have  occurred  im- 
mediately after  the  funeral  of  the  Count  of  Saldaiia.  As  to  what  was  the  end 
of  the  knight’s  history,  we  are  almost  left  entirely  in  the  dark  both  by  the 
Chronicle  and  by  the  Eomancero.  It  appears  to  be  intimated  that,  after  his 
father’s  death,  he  once  more  “ took  service  ” among  the  Moors,  who  are  repre- 
sented in  several  of  the  ballads  as  accustomed  to  exchange  offices  of  courtesy 
■with  Bernardo.] 


With  some  good  ten  of  his  chosen  men,  Bernardo  hath  appeared 
Before  them  all  in  the  palace  hall,  the  lying  King  to  beard  ; 

With  cap  in  hand  and  eye  on  ground,  he  came  in  reverent  guise, 

But  ever  and  anon  he  froivncd,  and  flame  broke  from  his  eyes. 

“ A curse  upon  tliee,”  cries  the  King,  “ who  comest  unbid  to  me  ; 

But  what  from  traitor’s  blood  should  spimig  save  traitors  like  to  thee  ? 
His  sire,  lords,  had  a traitor’s  heart ; perchance  our  champion  brave 
May  think  it  were  a pious  part  to  share  Don  Sancho’s  grave.” 

“ Wlioevcr  told  this  tale  the  King  hath  rashness  to  repeat,” 

Cries  Bernard,  “ hero  my  gage  I fling  before  the  liar’s  feet ! 

No  treason  was  in  Sancho’s  blood,  — no  stain  in  mine  doth  lie  ; 

Below  the  throne  what  knight  will  own  the  coward  calumny  I 

“ The  blood  that  I like  water  shed,  when  Roland  did  advance, 

By  secret  traitors  hired  and  led,  to  make  us  slaves  of  France  ; 

Tk<5  life  of  King  Alphonso  I saved  at  Roncesval,  — 

Your  words,  Lord  King,  are  recompense  abundant  for  it  all. 


38 


BERNARDO  AND  ALPHONSO. 


“ Your  horse  was  down,  — your  hope  was  flown,  — I saw  the  flilehion  shine. 
That  soon  had  drunk  your  royal  blood  had  1 not  ventured  mine  ; 

But  memory  soon  of  service  done  deserteth  the  ingrate  ; 

You  ’ve  thanked  the  son  for  life  and  crown  by  the  father’s  bloody  fate. 

“Ye  swore  upon  your  kingly  faith  to  set  Don  Sancho  free  ; 

But,  curse  upon  your  paltering  breath,  the  light  he  ne’er  did  see  ; 
lie  died  in  dungeon  cold  and  dim,  by  Alphonso’s  base  decree. 

And  visage  blind  and  stiffened  limb  were  all  they  gave  to  me. 

“ Tlie  King  that  swerveth  from  his  word  hath  stained  his  pui-ple  black ; 

No  Spanish  lord  will  draw  the  sword  behind  a liar’s  back  ; 

But  noble  vengeance  shall  be  mine,  an  open  hate  I ’ll  show,  — 

The  King  hath  injured  Carpio’s  line,  and  Bernard  is  his  foe.” 

“ Seize,  seize  him  ! ” loud  tlic  King  doth  scream : “ there  are  a thousand  here ! 
Let  his  foul  blood  this  instant  stream  ! — What,  caitiff's,  do  ye  fear? 

Seize,  seize  the  traitor ! ” — But  not  one  to  move  a finger  dareth ; 

Bernardo  standeth  by  the  throne,  and  calm  his  sword  he  bareth. 

He  drew  the  falchion  from  the  sheath,  and  held  it  up  on  high. 

And  all  the  hall  was  still  as  death  : — cries  Bernard,  “ Here  am  I,  — 

And  here  is  the  sword  that  owns  no  lord,  excepting  Heaven  and  me; 

Fain  would  I know  who  dares  his  point,  — King,  Condo,  or  Grandee.” 

Then  to  his  mouth  the  horn  he  drew,  — it  hung  below  his  cloak  ; 

His  ten  true  men  the  signal  knew,  and  through  the  ring  they  broke ; 

With  helm  on  head,  and  blade  in  hand,  the  knights  the  circle  brake. 

And  back  the  lordlings  ’gan  to  stand,  and  the  false  King  to  quake. 

“ Ha!  Bernard,”  quoth  Alphonso,  “what  means  this  warlike  guise? 

Ye  know  full  well  I jested,  — ye  know  your  worth  I prize.” 

But  Bernard  turned  upon  his  heel,  and  smiling  passed  away : — 

Long  raed  Alphonso  and  his  realm  the  jesting  of  thiit  day. 


THE  MAIDEN  TRIBUTE. 


39 


THE  MAIDEN  TRIBUTE. 


[The  reign  of  King  Ramiro  was  short,  but  glorious.  He  had  not  been  many 
months  seated  on  the  throne,  when  Abderahman,  the  second  of  that  name,  sent 
a fonnal  eml)iissy  to  demand  payment  of  an  odious  and  ignominious  tribute, 
which  had  been  agreed  to  in  the  days  of  former  and  weaker  princes,  but  which, 
it  should  seem,  liad  not  been  exacted  by  the  Moors  while  such  men  as  Bernardo 
del  Carpio  and  Alphonso  the  Great  headed  the  forces  of  the  Christians.  This 
tribute  was  a hundred  virgins  per  annum.  King  Ramiro  refused  compliance, 
and  marched  to  meet  the  ai-my  of  Abderahman.  The  battle  was  fought  near 
Albayda  (or  Alveida),  and  lasted  for  two  entire  days.  On  the  first  day,  the 
superior  discipline  of  the  Saracen  chivalry  had  nearly  accomplished  a complete 
victory,  when  the  approach  of  night  separated  the  combatants.  During  the 
night.  Saint  lago  stood  in  a vision  before  the  King,  and  promised  to  be  with 
him  next  morning  in  the  field.  Accordingly,  the  warlike  apostle  made  his  ap- 
pearance, mounted  on  a milk-white  charger,  and  armed  cap-a-pie  in  radiant 
anail,  like  a true  knight.  The  Moors  sustained  a signal  defeat,  and  the  Maiden 
Tribute  was  never  afterwards  paid,  although  often  enough  demanded.  Such 
is,  iu  substance,  the  story  as  narrated  by  Mariana  {see  Book  VII.  chap.  13),  who 
fixes  tlie  date  of  the  battle  of  Alveida  in  the  year  844,  being  the  second  year 
after  the  accession  of  King  Ramiro. 

Mr.  Southey  observes  that  there  is  no  mention  of  this  battle  of  Alveida  in  the 
three  authors  who  lived  nearest  the  time;  but  adds,  that  the  story  of  Saint 
lago’s  making  his  first  appearance  in  a Jield  of  battle  on  the  Christian  side  is  re- 
lated at  length  by  King  Ramiro  himself  in  a charter  granting  a perpetual  trib- 
ute of  wine,  corn,  &c.  to  the  church  of  Compostella.  Mr.  Southey  says  that 
the  onlj'  old  ballad  he  has  seen  in  the  Portuguese  language  is  founded  upon  a 
story  of  a Maiden  Tribute.  See  the  Notes  to  his  Chronicle  of  the  Cid,  p.  377.] 


40 


THE  MAIDEN  TRIBUTE. 


The  noble  King  Ramiro  within  the  chamber  sate 
One  day,  with  all  his  barons,  in  council  and  debate. 

When,  without  leave  or  guidance  of  usher  or  of  groom. 

There  came  a comely  maiden  into  the  council-room. 

She  was  a comely  maiden,  — she  was  surpassing  fair ; 

All  loose  upon  her  shouldere  hung  down  her  golden  hair ; 

From  head  to  foot  her  garments  were  white  as  white  may  be ; 

And  while  they  gazed  in  silence,  thus  in  the  midst  spake  she : — 

“ Sir  King,  I crave  your  pardon,  if  I have  done  amiss 
In  venturing  before  ye,  at  such  an  hour  as  this ; 

But  I will  tell  my  story,  and  when  my  words  ye  hear, 

I look  for  praise  and  honor,  and  no  rebuke  I fear. 

“ I know  not  if  I ’m  bounden  to  call  tliee  by  the  name 
Of  Christian,  King  Ramiro  ; for,  tliough  thou  dost  not  claim 
A heathen  realm’s  allegiance,  a heathen  sure  thou  art,  — 

Beneath  a Spaniard’s  mantle  thou  hidest  a Moorish  heart. 

“ For  he  who  gives  the  Moor-King  a Imndrcd  maids  of  Spain, 
Each  year  when  in  its  season  the  day  comes  round  again,  — 

If  he  be  not  a heathen,  he  swells  the  heathen’s  train ; 

’T  were  better  burn  a kingdom  than  suffer  such  disdain. 

“ If  the  Moslem  must  have  tribute,  make  men  yom-  tribute-money, 
Send  idle  drones  to  tease  them  wdthin  their  hives  of  honey  ; 

For  when ’t  is  paid  with  maidens,  from  every  maid  there  spring 
Some  five  or  six  strong  soldiers  to  serve  the  Moorish  King. 

“ It  is  but  little  wisdom  to  keep  our  men  at  home  ; — 

They  seiwe  but  to  get  damsels,  wlio,  when  their  day  is  come. 
Must  go,  like  all  the  others,  the  heathen’s  bed  to  sleep  in ; — 

In  all  the  rest  they  ’re  useless,  and  nowise  worth  the  keeping. 


THE  MAIDEN  TRIBUTE. 


41 


“ And  if ’t  is  fear  of  battle  that  makes  ye  bow  so  low, 

And  suffer  such  dishonor  from  God  our  Saviour’s  foe, 

I pray  you,  sirs,  take  warning,  — ye  ’ll  have  as  good  a fright 
If  e’er  the  Spanish  damsels  arise  themselves  to  right. 

“ ’T  is  we  have  manly  courage  t^dthin  the  breasts  of  women. 

But  ye  are  all  hare-hearted,  both  gentlemen  and  yeomen.” 

Thus  spake  that  fearless  maiden ; I wot  when  she  was  done. 

Uprose  the  Bang  Kamiro  and  his  nobles  every  one. 

The  Bang  called* God  to  witness,  that,  come  there  weal  or  woe. 
Thenceforth  no  Maiden  Tribute  from  out  Castile  should  go ; 

“ At  least  I will  do  battle  on  God  om'  Saviom’’s  foe. 

And  die  beneath  my  banner  before  I see  it  so.” 

A cry  went  through  the  mountains  w'hen  the  proud  Moor  drew  near, 
And  trooping  to  Ramiro  came  every  Chidstian  spear ; 

The  blessed  Saint  lago,  they  called  upon  his  name : — 

That  day  began  our  freedom,  and  wiped  away  our  shame. 


42 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  COUNT  FERNAN  GONZALEZ. 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  COUNT  FERNAN  GONZALEZ. 


[Tiik.  story  of  Fernan  Gonzalez  is  detailed  in  the  Chronica  Antigua  de  Espaiia 
with  so  many  romantic  circumstances,  that  certain  modern  critics  have  been 
inclined  to  consider  it  as  entirely  fabulous.  Of  the  main  facts  recorded,  there 
seems,  however,  to  be  no  good  reason  to  doubt;  and  it  is  quite  certain  that,  from 
the  earliest  times,  the  name  of  Fernan  Gonzalez  has  been  held  in  the  highest 
honor  by  the  Spaniards  themselves  of  every  degree.  He  lived  at  the  beginning 
of  the  tenth  century.  It  was  under  Ids  rule,  according  to  the  chronicles,  that 
Castile  first  became  an  independent  Christian  state,  and  it  was  by  his  exertions 
that  the  fii-st  foundations  were  laid  of  that  system  of  warfare  by  which  the 
Moorish  power  in  Spain  was  at  last  overthrown. 

He  was  so  fortunate  as  to  have  a wife  as  heroic  as  himself,  and  both  in  the 
chronicles  and  in  the  ballads  abundant  justice  is  done  to  her  merits. 

She  twice  rescued  Fernan  Gonzalez  from  confinement,  at  the  risk  of  her  own 
life.  He  had  asked,  or  designed  to  ask,  her  hand  in  marriage  of  her  father,  Gar- 
cias, King  of  Navarre,  and  was  on  his  way  to  that  prince's  court,  when  he  was 
seized  and  cast  into  a dungeon,  in  consequence  of  the  machinations  of  his  ene- 
my, the  Queen  of  Leon,  sifter  to  the  King  of  Navarre.  Sancha,  the  young 
princess,  to  whose  alliance  he  had  aspired,  being  informed  of  the  cause  of  his 
journey,  and  of  the  sufferings  to  which  it  had  exposed  him,  determined,  at  all 
hazards,  to  effect  his  liberation;  and  having  done  so,  by  bribing  his  jailer,  she 
accompanied  his  flight  to  Castile.  Many  years  after,  he  fell  into  an  ambush 
prepared  for  him  by  the  same  implacable  enemy,  and  was  again  a fast  prisoner 
in  Leon.  His  Countess,  feigning  a pilgrimage  to  Compostella,  obtained  leave, 
in  the  first  place,  to  pass  through  the  hostile  tendtory,  and  afterwards,  in  the 
course  of  her  progress,  to  spend  one  night  in  the  castle  where  her  husband  was 
confined.  She  exchanged  clothes  with  him ; and  he  was  so  fortunate  as  to  pass 
in  his  disguise  through  the  guards  who  attended  on  him,  — his  courageous  wife 
remaining  in  his  place,  — exactly  in  th«  same  manner  in  which  the  Countess  of 
Nithsdale  effected  the  escape  of  her  lord  from  the  Tower  of  London,  on  the  23d 
of  Febniaiw,  1715. 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  COUNT  FERNAN  GONZALEZ. 


43 


There  is,  as  might  be  supposed,  a whole  body  of  old  ballads  concerning  the 
adventures  of  Fernan  Gonzalez.  I shall,,  as  a specimen,  translate  one  of  the 
shortest,  — that  in  which  the  first  of  his  romantic  escapes  is  described.] 


They  have  carried  afar  into  Navarre  the  great  Count  of  Castile, 

And  they  have  bound  him  sorely,  they  have  bound  him  hand  and  heel ; 
The  tidings  up  the  mountains  go,  and  down  among  the  valleys, 

“ To  the  rescue ! to  the  rescue,  ho  ! — they  have  ta’eu  Teman  Gonzalez  1 ” 

A pilgrim  knight  of  Nonnandy  was  riding  through  Navarre, 

Tor  Chi'ist  his  hope  he  came  to  cope  Avith  the  Moorish  scymitar; 

To  the  Alcayde  of  the  Tower  in  secret  thus  said  he  : 

“ These  bezaunts  fair  with  thee  I T1  share,  so  I this  lord  may  see.” 

The  Alcayde  was  full  joyful,  — he  took  the  gold  full  soon  ; 

He  brought  him  to  the  dungeon  ere  the  rising  of  the  moon,  — 

He  let  him  out  at  morning,  at  the  gray  light  of  the  prime,  — 

But  many  words  between  these  lords  had  passed  within  that  time. 

Tl'.e  Norman  knight  rides  swiftly,  for  he  hath  made  him  bowne 
To  a king  that  is  full  joyous,  and  to  a feastful  town  ; 

Tor  there  is  joy  and  feasting  because  that  lord  is  ta’en,  — 

King  Garci  in  his  dungeon  holds  the  doughtiest  lord  in  Spain. 

The  Norman  feasts  among  the  guests,  but,  at  the  evening  tide. 

Ho  speaks  to  Garci’s  daughter,  wthin  her  bower,  aside  : — 

“ Now  God  forgive  us,  lady,  and  God  his  mother  deal-. 

For  on  a day  of  soiTOW  wc  have  been  blithe  of  cheer. 

“ The  Moors  may  well  be  joyful,  but  great  should  be  our  grief. 

For  Spam  has  lost  her  guardian,  when  Castile  has  lost  her  chief ; 

The  Moorish  host  is  pouring  like  a riv'cr  o’er  the  land,  — 

Cm'se  cn  the  Christian  fetters  that  bind  Gonzalez’  hand ! 


44 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  COUNT  FEUNAN  GONZALEZ. 


“ Gonzalez,  loves  tliec,  lady,  — he  loved  thee  long  ago,  — 

But  little  is  the  kindness  that  for  his  love  you  show ; 

The  curse  that  lies  on  Cava’s  * head,  it  may  be  shared  by  thee ; — 

Arise,  let  love  with  love  be  paid,  and  set  Gonzalez  free.” 

The  lady  answered  little,  but  at  the  mirk  of  night. 

When  all  her  maids  are  sleeping,  she  hath  risen  and  ta’en  her  flight ; 

She  hath  tcmjtted  the  Alcayde  with  her  jewels  and  her  gold. 

And  unto  her  his  prisoner  that  Jailer  false  hath  sold. 

She  took  Gonzalez  by  the  hand  at  the  dawning  of  the  day. 

She  said,  “ Upon  the  heath  you  stand,  — before  you  lies  your  way ; 

But  if  I to  my  father  go,  alas  1 what  must  I do  1 
My  father  tvill  be  angry,  — I fain  would  go  with  you.” 

He  hath  kissed  the  Infanta,  he  hath  kissed  her  brow  and  cheek. 

And  lovingly  together  the  forest-path  they  seek ; 

Till  in  the  greenwood  hunting  they  met  a lordly  priest. 

With  his  bugle  at  his  girdle,  and  his  hawk  upon  his  wrist. 

“ Now  stop  1 now  stop  1 ” the  priest  he  said,  — (he  knew  them  both  right 
well,)  — 

“ Now  stop,  and  pay  your  ransom,  or  I your  flight  will  tell ; 

Now  stop,  thou  fair  Infanta,  for,  if  my  words  you  scorn, 

I ’ll  give  warning  to  the  foresters  with  the  blowing  of  my  horn.” 

***** 

The  base  priest’s  word  Gonzalez  heard.  “ Now,  by  the  rood  1 ” cpioth  he, 
“ A hundred  deaths  I ’ll  suffer,  or  ere  this  thing  shall  be.” 

But  in  his  ear  she  whispered,  she  whispered  soft  and  slow. 

And  to  the  priest  she  beckoned  within  the  wood  to  go. 


* Caba,  or  Cava,  the  unfortunate  daughter  of  Count  Julian.  No  child  in  Spain  was 
ever  christened  by  that  ominous  name  after  the  downfall  of  the  Gothic  kingdom. 


THE  ESCAPE  OP  COUNT  P'ERNAN  GONZALEZ. 


45 


It  was  ill  with  Count  Glonzalcz,  the  fetters  yu'esscd  his  knees  ; 

Yet  as  he  couhl  he  followed  within  the  shady  trees. 

“For  help,  for  help,  Gonzalez  ! — for  help,’’  he  hears  her  cry ; 

“ God  aiding,  fast  I ’ll  hold  thee,  until  my  lord  come  nigh.” 

He  has  come  tvithin  the  thicket,  — there  lay  they  on  the  green,  — « 

And  he  has  plucked  from  off  the  grass  the  false  priest’s  javelin ; 

Finn  hy  the  throat  she  held  him  bound,  — down  went  the  weapon  sheer,  — 
Down  through  his  body  to  the  ground,  even  as  the  boar  ye  spear. 

They  wrapped  him  in  his  mantle,  and  left  him  there  to  bleed. 

And  all  that  day  they  held  their  way,  — his  palfrey  served  their  need,  — 
Till  to  their  cars  a sound  did  come,  might  fill  their  hearts  with  dread, 

A steady  whisper  on  the  breeze,  and  horsemen’s  heat'y  tread. 

The  Infanta  trembled  in  the  wood,  but  forth  the  Count  did  go. 

And,  gazing  wide,  a troop  descried  upon  the  bridge  below. 

“ Gramercy ! ” quoth  Gonzalez,  “ or  else  my  sight  is  gone, 

Methinks  I know  the  pennon  yon  sun  is  shining  on. 

“ Come  forth,  come  forth.  Infanta,  mine  own  true  men  they  be,  — 

Come  forth,  and  see  my  banner,  and  cry  Castile  ! with  me  ; 

My  merry  men  di-aw  near  me,  I see  my  pennon  shine. 

Their  swords  shine  bright,  Infanta,  — and  every  blade  is  thine.” 


46 


THK  SEVEN  HEADS. 


THE  SEVEN  HEADS. 


[“  It  was,”  says  Mariana,  “ in  the  year  986.  that  the  seven  most  noble  brotli- 
ers,  commonly  called  the  Infants  of  Lara,  were  slain  by  the  treachery  of  Ruy 
Velasquez,  who  was  their  uncle,  for  they  were  the  sons  of  his  sister,  Dona 
Sanoha.  By  the  fathers  side,  tliey  were  sprung  from  the  Counts  of  Caslile, 
through  the  Count  Don  Diego  Porcellos,  from  whose  daugliter  and  Nuho  I’el- 
ohidcs  there  came  two  sons,  namely,  Nufio  Rasura,  great-grandfather  of  the 
Count  Garci  Fernandez,  and  Gnstio  Gonzalez.  Tlie  last-named  gentleman 
was  father  of  Gonzalo  Gustio,  Lord  of  Salas  of  Lara  ; and  his  sons  were  those 
seven  brothers  famous  in  the  history  of  Spain,  not  more  by  reason  of  their 
deeds  of  prowess,  than  of  the  disastrous  death  which  was  their  fortune.  They 
were  all  knighted  on  the  same  day  by  the  Count  Don  Garcia,  according  to  the 
fashion  which  prevailed  in  those  days,  and  more  especially  in  Spain. 

“ Now  it  happened  that  Ruy  Velasquez,  Lord  of  Villaren,  celebrated  his  nup- 
tials in  Burgos  with  Doha  Lambra,  a lady  of  very  high  birth  from  the  country 
of  Briviesca,  and,  indeed,  a cousin-german  to  the  Count  Garci  Fernandez  him- 
self. The  feast  was  splendid,  and  great  was  the  concourse  of  principal  gentry; 
and  among  others  were  present  the  Count  Garci  Fernandez,  and  those  seven 
brothers,  with  Gonzalo  Gustio,  their  father. 

“ From  some  trivial  occasion,  there  arose  a quarrel  between  Gonzalez,  the 
youngest  of  the  seven  brothers,  on  the  one  hand,  and  a relation  of  Doha  Lam- 
bra, by  name  Alvar  Sanchez,  on  the  other,  without,  however,  any  very  serious 
consequences  at  the  time.  But  Doha  Lambra  conceived  herself  to  liave  been 
insulted  by  the  quarrel,  and  in  order  to  revenge  herself,  when  the  seven  brothers 
were  come  as  far  as  Barvadiello,  riding  in  her  train  the  more  to  do  her  honor, 
she  ordered  one  of  her  slaves  to  throw  at  Gonzalez  a wild  cucumber  soaked  in 
blood,  a heavy  insult  and  outrage,  according  to  the  then  existing  customs  and 
opinions  of  Spain.  The  slave,  having  done  as  he  was  bid,  fled  for  protection  to 
his  lady,  Doha  Lambra;  but  that  availed  him  nothing,  for  they  slew  him  within 
the  very  folds  of  her  garment. 


THE  SEVEN  HEADS. 


47 


“ Euy  Yelasqnez,  wlio  did  not  witness  these  things  with  liis  own  eyes,  no 
sooner  returned,  than,  filled  with  wrath  on  account  of  this  slaughter,  and  of  the 
insult  to  his  bride,  he  began  to  devise  how  he  might  avenge  himself  of  the  seven 
brothers. 

“ With  semblances  of  peace  and  friendship,  he  concealed  his  mortal  hatred; 
and,  after  a time,  Gonzalo  Gustio,  the  father,  was  sent  by  him,  suspecting 
nothing,  to  Cordova.  The  pretence  was  to  bring  certain  moneys  which  had 
been  promised  to  Buy  Velasquez  by  the  barbarian  King,  but  the  true  purpose, 
that  he  might  be  put  to  death  at  a distance  from  ins  own  country ; for  Euy 
Velasquez  asked  the  Moor  to  do  this,  in  letters  written  in  the  Arabic  tongue,  of 
which  Gonzalo  was  made  the  bearer.  The  Moor,  however,  whether  moved  to 
have  compassion  on  the  gray  hairs  of  so  principal  a gentleman,  or  desirous  of  at 
least  making  a show  of  humanity,  did  not  slay  Gonzalo,  but  contented  himself 
with  imprisoning  him.  Nor  was  his  durance  of  the  strictest,  for  a certain  sister 
of  the  Moorish  King  found  ingress,  and  held  communication  with  him  there; 
and  from  that  conversation,  it  is  said,  sprung  Mudara  Gonzalez,  author  and 
founder  of  that  most  noble  Spanish  lineage  of  the  Manriques. 

“•  But  the  fierce  spirit  of  Euy  Velasquez  was  not  satisfied  with  the  tribulations 
of  Gonzalo  Gustio;  he  caiTied  his  rage  stiU  farther.  Pretending  to  make  an 
incursion  into  the  Moonsh  country,  he  led  into  an  ambuscade  the  seven  broth- 
ers, who  had,  as  yet,  conceived  no  thought  of  his  treacherous  intentions.  It  is 
true  that  Nuiio  Sallido,  their  grandfather,  had  cautioned  them  with  many 
warnings,  for  he  indeed  suspected  the  deceit;  but  it  was  in  vain,  for  so  God 
willed  or  permitted.  They  had  some  two  hundred  horsemen  with  them  of  their 
vassals,  but  these  were  nothing  against  the  great  host  of  Moors  that  set  upon 
them  from  the  ambuscade;  and  although,  when  they  found  how  it  was,  they 
acquitted  themselves  like  good  gentlemen,  and  slew  many,  they  could  accom- 
plish nothing  except  making  the  victory  dear  to  their  enemies.  They  were 
resolved  to  avoid  the  shame  of  captivity,  and  were  all  slain,  together  with  their 
grandfather  Sallido.  Their  heads  were  sent  to  Cordova,  an  agreeable  present 
To  that  King,  but  a sight  of  misery  to  their  aged  father,  who,  being  brought  into 
the  place  where  they  were,  recognized  them  in  spite  of  the  dust  and  blood  with 
which  they  were  disfigured.  It  is  true,  nevertheless,  that  he  derived  some 
benefit  therefrom ; for  the  King,  out  of  the  compassion  which  he  felt,  set  him  at 
liberty  to  depart  to  his  own  country. 

“ Mudara,  the  son  bom  to  Gonzalo  (out  of  wedlock)  by  the  sister  of  the 


48 


TUB  SEVEN  HEADS. 


Moor,  when  he  had  attained  the  age  of  fourteen  years,  was  prevailed  on  by  hts 
mother  to  go  in  search  of  his  father;  and  he  it  was  that  avenged  the  death  of 
his  seven  brothers,  by  slaying  with  his  own  hand  Ruy  Velasquez,  the  author  of 
tliat  calamity.  Dona  Lambra  likewise,  who  had  been  the  original  cause  of  all 
those  evils,  was  stoned  to  death  by  him  and  burnt. 

“ By  this  vengeance  which  he  took  for  the  murder  of  his  seven  brothers,  he 
so  won  to  himself  the  good-liking  of  his  father’s  wife,  Doha  Sancha,  and  of  all 
the  kindred,  that  he  was  received  and  acknowledged  as  heir  to  the  seignories  of 
his  father.  Doha  Sancha  herself  adopted  him  as  her  son,  and  the  manner  of 
the  adoption  was  thus,  not  less  memorable  than  rade.  The  same  day  that  he 
was  baptized,  and  stricken  knight  by  Garci  Fernandez,  Count  of  Castile,  the 
lady  made  use  of  this  ceremony:  she  drew  him  within  a very  wide  smock  by 
the  sleeve,  and  thrust  liis  head  forth  at  the  neck-band,  and  then,  kissing  him  on 
the  face,  delivered  him  to  the  family  as  her  own  child 

“ In  the  cloister  of  the  monasterj'  of  Saint  Peter  of  Arlanza  they  show  the 
sepulchre  of  Mudara.  But  concerning  the  place  where  his  seven  brothers  were 
buried  there  is  a dispute  between  the  members  of  that  house  and  those  of  the 
monastery  of  Saint  Millan  at  Cogolla.”  — Mariana,  Book  VIII.,  Chap.  9. 

Such  is  Mariana’s  edition  of  the  famous  story  of  the  Infants  of  Lara,  a story 
which,  next  to  the  legends  of  the  Cid,  and  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio,  appears  to 
have  furnished  the  most  favorite  subjects  of  the  old  Spanish  minstrels. 

The  ballad,  a translation  of  which  follows,  relates  to  a part  of  the  history 
briefly  alluded  to  by  Mariana.  In  the  Chronicle  we  are  informed  more  minute- 
ly that,  after  the  Seveu  Infants  were  slain,  Almanzoi , King  of  Cordova,  invited 
his  prisoner,  Gonzalo  Gustio,  to  feast  with  him  in  his  palace;  but  when  tne 
Baron  of  Lara  came,  in  obedience  to  the  royal  invitation,  he  found  tlie  heads  of 
his  sons  set  forth  in  chargers  on  the  table.  The  old  man  reproached  the  King 
bitter!}"  for  the  cruelty  and  baseness  of  this  proceeding,  and,  suddenly  snatch- 
ing a sword  from  the  side  of  one  of  the  royal  attendants,  sacriflced  to  his  wrath, 
ere  he  could  be  disai-med  and  fettered,  thirteen  of  the  Moors  who  surrounded 
the  person  of  Almanzor. 

Forty  highly  spirited  engi'avings  of  scenes  in  this  romantic  history,  by  Tera- 
pesta,  after  designs  of  Otto  Van  Veen,  were  published  at  Antwerp  in  1612.] 


THE  SEVEN  HEAPS. 


“"Who  beai's  such  heart  of  baseness,  a king  I ’ll  never  call,”  — 

Thus  spake  Glonzalo  Gustos  within  Almanzor’s  hall ; 

To  the  proud  Jloor  Almanzor,  within  his  kingly  hall. 

The  gray-haired  Knight  of  Lara  thus  spake  before  them  all : — 

“ In  courteous  guise,  Almanzor,  your  messenger  was  sent, 

And  comteous  was  the  answer  with  which  from  me  he  went ; 

For  why  1 — I tliought  the  word  he  brought  of  a knight  and  of  a king 
But  false  Moor  henceforth  never  me  to  his  feast  shall  bring. 

“ Ye  bade  me  to  your  banquet,  and  I at  your  bidding  came  ; 

Accursed  be  the  villany,  eternal  be  the  shame,  — 

For  ye  have  brought  an  old  man  forth,  that  he  your  sport  might  be  : 
Thank  God,  I cheat  you  of  your  joy,  — thank  God,  no  tear  you  see. 

“ My  gallant  boys,”  quoth  Lara,  “ it  is  a heavy  sight 
These  dogs  have  brought  yom'  father  to  look  upon  this  night ; 

Seven  gentler  boys,  nor  braver,  were  never  nursed  in  Spain, 

And  blood  of  Moors,  God  rest  your  souls,  ye  shed  on  her  like  rain. 

“ Some  cunish  plot,  some  trick,  (God  wot !)  hath  laid  you  aU  so  low, 
Ye  died  not  all  together  in  one  fair  battle  so  ; 

Not  all  the  misbelievers  ever  pricked  upon  yon  plain 
The  seven  brave  boys  of  Lara  in  open  field  had  slain. 

“ The  youngest  and  the  weakest,  Gonzalez  dear  ! wert  thou,  — 

Yet  well  tills  false  Almanzor  remembers  thee,  I trow ; 

0,  well  doth  he  remember  how  on  liis  helmet  rung 
Thy  fiery  mace,  Gonzalez  ! although  thou  wert  so  young. 

“ Thy  gallant  horse  had  fallen,  and  thou  hadst  mounted  thee 
Upon  a stray  one  in  the  field,  — his  own  true  barb  had  he ; 

0,  hadst  thou  not  pursued  his  flight  upon  that  runaway. 

Ne’er  had  the  caitiff  ’scaped  that  night,  to  mock  thy  sire  to-day. 

4 


50 


THE  SEVEN  HEADS. 


“False  Moor,  I am  thy  captive  thrall ; but  when  thou  hadcst  me  forth. 
To  sliare  the  banquet  in  thy  hall,  1 trusted  in  the  worth 
Of  kingly  promise.  Think’st  thou  not  my  God  will  hear  my  prayer?  — 
Lord  ! branchless  be  (like  mine)  his  tree,  — yea,  branchless.  Lord,  and  bare  1 

So  prayed  the  baron  in  his  ire ; but  when  he  looked  again, 

Tiien  burst  the  sorrow  of  the  sire,  and  te.ars  ran  down  like  rain ; 

Wrath  no  more  could  check  the  sorrow  of  the  old  and  childless  man. 
And,  like  waters  in  a fuiTOw,  down  his  cheeks  the  salt  tears  ran. 

He  took  their  heads  up  one  by  one,  he  kissed  them  o’er  and  o’er. 

And  aye  ye  saw  the  tears  down  run,  — I wot  that  grief  was  sore. 

He  closed  the  lids  on  their  dead  eyes  all  with  his  fingers  frail. 

And  handled  all  their  bloody  curls,  and  kissed  their  lips  so  pale. 

“ 0,  had  ye  died  all  by  my  side  upon  some  famous  day. 

My  fair  young  men,  no  weak  tears  then  had  washed  your  blood  away! 
The  trumjtet  of  Castile  had  drowned  the  misbelievers’  horn. 

And  the  last  of  all  the  Lara’s  line  a Gothic  spear  had  borne.” 

With  that  it  chanced  a Moor  drew  near,  to  lead  him  from  the  place,  — 
Old  Lara  stooped  him  down  once  more,  and  kissed  Gonzalez’  face ; 

But  ere  the  man  observed  him,  or  could  his  gesture  bar. 

Sudden  he  from  his  side  had  grasped  that  Moslem’s  scymitar. 

O,  swiftly  from  its  scabbard  the  crooked  blade  he  drew. 

And,  like  some  frantic  creature,  among  them  all  he  flew : — 

“ Whore,  where  is  false  Almanzor  ? — back,  bastards  of  Mahoun ! ” — 
And  here  and  there,  in  his  despair,  the  old  man  hewed  them  down. 

A hundred  hands,  a hundred  brands,  are  ready  in  the  hall. 

But  ere  they  mastered  Lara,  thirteen  of  them  did  fall ; 

He  has  sent,  I ween,  a good  thirteen  of  dogs  that  spumed  his  God, 

To  keep  his  children  company  beneath  the  Moorish  sod. 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  MUDARA. 


51 


THE  VENGEANCE  OF  MUDARA. 


[This  is  another  of  the  many  ballads  concerning  the  Infants  of  Lara.  One 
verse  of  it  — 

■ El  espera  que  tu  diste  a los  Infantes  de  Lara ! 

Aqui  moriras  traydor  eneniigo  de  Donna  Sancha, 

— is  quoted  by  Sancho  Panza,  in  one  of  the  last  chapters  of  Don  Quixote.] 


To  the  chase  goes  Rodrigo  with  hound  and  with  hawk  ; 

But  what  game  he  desires  is  revealed  in  his  talk : 

“ 0,  in  vain  have  I slaughtered  the  Infants  of  Lara  : 

There  ’s  an  heir  in  his  hall,  — there ’s  the  bastard  Mudara,  — 
There ’s  the  son  of  the  renegade,  — spa^vn  of  Mahoun,  — 

If  I meet  with  Miidai-a,  my  spear  brings  him  down.” 

While  Rodrigo  rides  on  in  the  heat  of  his  wrath, 

A stripling,  armed  cap-a-pie,  crosses  his  path  : 

“ Good  moiTow,  young  esquire.”  “ Good  morrow,  old  knight.” 
“ Will  you  ride  with  our  party,  and  share  our  delight  1 ” 

“ Speak  your  name,  courteous  stranger,”  the  stripling  replied ; 

“ Speak  your  name  and  your  lineage,  ere  with  you  I ride.” 

“My  name  is  Rodrigo,”  thus  answered  the  knight; 

“ Of  the  line  of  old  Lara,  though  barred  from  my  right ; 

For  the  kinsman  of  Salas  proclaims,  for  the  heir 
Of  our  ancestor’s  castles  and  forestries  fair, 

A bastard,  a renegade’s  offspring,  — Mudara,  — 

Whom  I ’ll  send,  if  I can,  to  the  Infants  of  Lara.” 


52 


THE  •WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY  THERESA. 


“ I behold  thee,  di.sgrace  to  thy  lineage  ! with  joy,  — 

“I  behold  thee,  thou  murderer!”  anstvered  the  hoy. 

“ Tlte  bastard  you  curse,  you  behold  him  in  me ; 

But  his  brothers’  avenger  that  bastard  shall  be ! 

Draw  I for  I am  the  renegade’s  offspring,  Mudara,  — 

We  shall  see  who  inherits  the  life-blood  of  Lara  ! ” 

“ I am  armed  for  the  forest-chase,  — not  for  the  fight ; 

Let  me  go  for  my  shield  and  my  sword,”  cries  the  knight. 
“ Now  the  mercy  you  dealt  to  my  brothers  of  old. 

Be  the  hope  of  that  mercy  the  comfort  you  hold  ; 

Die,  foeman  to  Sancha,  — die,  traitor  to  Lara  ! ” 

As  he  spake,  there  was  blood  on  the  spear  of  Mudara. 


THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY  THERESA. 


[The  following  passage  oceurs  in  Mariana’s  History  (Book  VIII.,  Chap.  5) : — 
“ There  are  who  affirm  that  this  Moor’s  name  was  Abdalla,  and  that  he  had 
to  wife  Dona  Theresa,  sister  to  Alphonso,  King  of  Leon,  with  consent  of 
that  prinee.  Great  and  flagrant  dishonor!  The  purpose  was  to  gain  new 
strength  to  his  kingdom  by  this  Moorish  alliance;  but^some  pretences  were  set 
forth  that  Abdalla  had  exhibited  certain  signs  of  desiring  to  be  a Christian,  that 
in  a short  time  he  was  to  be  baptized,  and  the  like. 

“ The  Lady  Theresa,  deceived  with  these  representations,  was  conducted  to 
Toledo,  where  the  nuptials  were  celebrated  in  great  splendor,  with  games  and 
sports,  and  a banquet,  which  lasted  until  night.  The  company  having  left  the 


THE  WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY  THERESA. 


53 


tables,  the  bride  was  then  carried  to  bed ; but  when  the  amorous  Moor  drew 
near  to  her,  — “ Away,”  said  she;  “ let  such  heavy  calamity,  such  baseness,  be 
far  from  me ! One  of  two  things  must  be,  — either  be  baptized,  thou  with  thy 
people,  and  then  come  to  my  arms,  or,  refusing  to  do  so,  keep  away  from  me 
for  ever.  If  otherwise,  fear  the  vengeance  of  men,  who  will  not  overlook  my 
insult  and  suffering;  and  the  wrath  of  God,  above  all,  which  wdll  follow  the 
violation  of  a Christian  lady’s  chastity.  Take  good  heed,'  and  let  not  luxury, 
that  smooth  pest,  be  thy  ruin.”  Bnt  the  Moor  took  no  heed  of  her  words,  and 
lay  wdth  her  against  her  will.  The  Divine  vengeance  followed  swiftly,  for 
there  fell  on  him  a severe  malady,  and  he  well  knew  vrithin  himself  from 
what  cause  it  arose.  Immediately  he  sent  back  Dona  Theresa  to  her 
brother’s  house,  with  great  gifts  which  he  had  bestowed  on  her;  but  she 
made  herself  a nun,  in  the  Convent  of  Las  Huelgas  (near  Burgos),  and 
there  passed  the  remainder  of  her  days  in  pious  labors  and  devotions,  in 
which  she  found  her  consolation  for  the  outrage  which  had  been  commit- 
ted on  her.” 

The  ballad,  of  w'hich  a translation  follows,  tells  the  same  story : — 

Eu  los  reynos  de  Leon  el  quinto  Alfonso  reynava,  &c.] 


’T  WAS  when  the  fifth  Alphonso  in  Leon  held  his  sway, 

King  Abdallah  of  Toledo  an  embassy  did  send  ; 

He  asked  his  sister  for  a wife,  and  in  an  evil  day 
Alphonso  sent  her,  for  he  feared  Abdallah  to  offend  ; 

He  feared  to  move  his  anger,  for  many  times  before 
He  had  received  in  danger  much  succor  from  the  Moor. 

Sad  heart  had  fair  Theresa  when  she  their  paction  knew ; 

"With  streaming  tears  she  heard  them  tell  she  ’mong  the  Moors  must  go  ; 
That  she,  a Christian  damosell,  a Christian  firm  and  true. 

Must  wed  a Moorish  husband,  it  well  might  cause  her  woe. 

But  all  her  tears  and  all  her  prayers  they  are  of  small  avail ; 

At  length  she  for  her  fate  prepares,  a victim  sad  and  pale. 


54 


THE  ■WEDDING  OF  THE  LADY  THERESA. 


The  King  hath  sent  his  sister  to  fair  Toledo  town, 

Where  then  the  iloor  Abdallah  his  royal  state  did  keep ; 

When  she  drew  near,  the  Moslem  from  his  golden  throne  came  do'wn, 
And  courteously  received  her,  and  bade  her  cease  to  weep ; 

With  loving  words  he  pressed  her  to  come  his  bower  within ; 

With  kisses  he  caressed  her,  but  still  she  feared  the  sin. 

“ Sir  liing.  Sir  King,  I pray  thee,”  — ’t  was  thus  Theresa  spake,  — 

“ I pray  thee  have  compassion,  and  do  to  me  no  wrong ; 

Por  sleep  with  thee  I may  not,  unless  the  vows  I break 
Whereby  I to  the  holy  Church  of  Christ  my  Lord  belong ; 

But  thou  hast  swoim  to  serve  Mahoun,  and  if  this  thing  should  be. 
The  curse  of  God  it  must  bring  down  upon  thy  realm  and  thee. 

“ The  angel  of  Clirist  Jesu,  to  whom  my  heavenly  Lord 
Hath  given  my  soul  in  keeping,  is  ever  by  my  side  ; 

If  thou  dost  me  dishonor,  he  will  unsheathe  his  sword. 

And  smite  thy  body  fiercely,  at  the  crying  of  thy  bride. 

Invisible  he  standeth  ; his  sword,  like  fieiy  flame. 

Will  penetrate  thy  bosom,  the  hour  that  sees  my  shame.” 

The  Moslem  heard  her  with  a smile  ; the  earnest  words  she  said 
He  took  for  bashful  maiden’s  wile,  and  drew  her  to  his  bower. 

In  vain  Theresa  prayed  and  strove,  — she  pressed  Abdallali’s  bed. 
Perforce  received  his  kiss  of  love,  and  lost  her  maiden  flower. 

A woful  woman  there  she  lay,  a loving  lord  beside. 

And  earnestly  to  God  did  pray  her  succor  to  provide. 

The  angel  of  Christ  Jesu  her  sore  complaint  did  hear. 

And  plucked  his  heavenly  weapon  from  out  his  sheath  unseen ; 

He  waved  the  brand  in  his  right  hand,  and  to  the  King  came  near. 
And  drew  tlie  point  o’er  limb  and  joint,  beside  the  weeping  Queen. 

A mortal  weakness  fi-om  the  stroke  upon  the  King  did  fall : — 

He  could  not  stand  when  daylight  broke,  but  on  his  knees  must  cratvl. 


THE  YOUNG  CID. 


55 


Abdalla  shuddered  inly,  when  ho  tliis  sickness  felt, 

And  called  upon  his  harous,  his  pillow  to  come  nigh. 

“ Rise  up,”  he  said,  “my  liegemen,”  as  round  his  hed  they  knelt, 
“And  take  this  Christian  lady,  else  certainly  I die  ; 

Let  gold  he  in  your  girdles,  and  precious  stones  heside. 

And  swiftly  ride  to  Leon,  and  render  up  my  hride.” 

When  they  were  come  to  Leon,  Theresa  would  not  go 

Into  her  brother’s  dwelling,  where  her  maiden  years  were  spent ; 

But  o’er  her  downcast  ^^sage  a white  veil  she  did  throw. 

And  to  the  ancient  nunnery  of  Las  Huelgas  went. 

There  long,  from  worldly  eyes  retired,  a holy  life  she  led  ; 

There,  she,  an  aged  saint,  expired,  — there  sleeps  she  with  the  dead. 


THE  YOUNG  CID. 


[The  ballads  in  the  collection  of  Escobar,  entitled  Romancero  e Hisim'ia  del 
muy  valeroso  Cnvallero  El  Cid  Ruy  Diaz  de  Bivai\  are  said  by  Mr.  Southey  to  be 
in  general  possessed  of  but  little  merit.  Notwithstanding  the  opinion  of  that 
great  scholar  and  poet,  I have  had  much  pleasure  in  reading  them;  and  have 
translated  a very  few,  which  may  serve,  perhaps,  as  a sufficient  specimen.  The 
following  is  a version  of  that  which  stands  fifth  in  Escobar:  — 

Cavalga  Diego  Laynez  at  buen  Rey  besar  la  mano,  &c.] 


Now  rides  Diego  Laynez  to  kiss  the  good  Iving’s  hand ; 
Three  hundred  men  of  gentry  go  with  him  from  his  land  ; 
Among  them,  young  Rodrigo,  the  proud  Knight  of  Bivar ; 
The  rest  on  mules  are  mounted,  he  on  his  horse  of  war. 


56 


THE  YOUNG  CID. 


They  ride  in  glittering  gOAvns  of  soye,  — he  harnessed  like  a lord  ; 
There  is  no  gold  about  the  boy,  but  the  crosslet  of  his  sword  ; 

The  rest  liave  gloves  of  sweet  perfume,  — he  gauntlets  sti-ong  of  mail ; 
They  broidered  cap  and  flaunting  plume,  — he  crest  untaught  to  quail. 

All  talking  with  each  other  thus  along  their  way  they  passed. 

But  now  they ’ve  come  to  Burgos,  and  met  the  King  at  last ; 

When  they  came  near  his  nobles,  a whisper  through  them  ran,  — 

“ Ho  rides  amidst  the  gentry  that  slew  the  Count  Lozan.” 

"With  very  haughty  gesture  Eodrigo  reined  his  horse. 

Right  scornfully  he  shouted,  when  he  heard  them  so  discourse  : 

“ If  any  of  his  kinsmen  or  vassals  dare  appear. 

The  man  to  give  them  answer,  on  horse  or  foot,  is  here.” 

“ The  Devil  ask  the  question  1 ” thus  muttered  all  the  band : — 

With  that  they  all  alighted,  to  kiss  the  good  King’s  hand. 

All  but  the  proud  Rodrigo,  — he  in  his  saddle  stayed,  — 

Then  turned  to  him  his  father  (you  may  hear  the  words  he  said). 

“ How  ’light,  my  son,  I pray  thee,  and  kiss  the  good  King’s  hand. 

He  is  our  lord,  Rodrigo,  — we  hold  of  him  our  land.” 

But  when  Eodrigo  heard  him,  he  looked  in  sulky  sort,  — 

I wot  the  words  he  answered,  they  were  both  cold  and  short. 

“ Had  any  other  said  it,  his  pains  had  well  been  paid. 

But  thou,  sir,  art  my  father,  thy  word  must  be  obeyed.” 

With  that  he  sprung  down  lightly,  before  the  King  to  kneel, 

But  as  the  knee  was  bending,  out  leapt  Ms  blade  of  steel. 

The  King  drew  back  in  terror,  when  he  saw  the  sword  was  bare  : 

“ Stand  back,  stand  back,  Rodrigo  1 in  the  Devil’s  name,  beware  1 
Your  looks  bespeak  a creature  of  father  Adam’s  mould. 

But  in  your  wild  beharior  you  ’re  like  some  lion  bold.” 


XIMENA  DEMANDS  VENGEANCE. 


57 


When  Eodi-igo  heard  him  say  so,  he  leapt  into  his  seat, 

And  thence  he  made  his  answer  with  visage  nothing  sweet : 

“ I ’d  think  it  little  honor  to  kiss  a kingly  palm. 

And  if  my  father ’s  kissed  it,  thereof  ashamed  I am.” 

When  he  these  words  had  uttered,  he  turned  him  from  the  gate,  — 
His  true  three  hundred  gentles  behind  him  followed  straight ; 

If  with  good  gowns  they  eame  that  day,  with  bettor  arms  they  went, 
And  if  their  mules  behind  did  stay,  with  horses  they  ’re  content. 


XniENA  DEMANDS  VENGEANCE. 


[This  ballad  represents  Ximena  Gomez  as,  in  person,  demanding  of  the  King 
vengeance  for  the  death  of  her  father,  whom  the  young  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  had 
fought  and  slain. 

Grande  rumor  se  levanta 
De  gritos,  armas,  y vozes, 

En  el  Palacio  de  Burgos 
Donde  son  los  buenos  homes,  &c.] 


Within  the  court  at  Burgos  a clamor  doth  arise. 

Of  arms  on  ai-mor  clashing,  of  screams,  and  shouts,  and  cries ; 
The  good  men  of  the  King,  that  sit  his  hall  around. 

All  suddenly  upsprjng,  astonished  at  the  sound. 

The  King  leans  from  his  chamber,  from  the  balcony  on  high : 

“ What  means  this  furious  clamor  my  palace-porch  so  nigh  1 ” 
But  when  he  looked  below  him,  there  were  horsemen  at  the  gate, 
And  the  fair  Ximena  Gomez  kneeling  in  woful  state. 


58 


XIMENA  REMANDS  VENGEANCE. 


Upon  her  neck,  disordered,  hung  down  the  lady’s  hair, 

And  floods  of  tears  were  streaming  upon  her  bosom  fair ; 

Sore  wept  she  for  her  fatlier,  the  Count  that  liad  been  slain ; 
Loud  cursed  she  Rodrigo,  whose  sword  his  blood  did  stain. 

They  turned  to  bold  Rodrigo,  I wot  his  cheek  was  red  ; 

With  haughty  wrath  he  listened  to  the  words  Ximena  said : 

“ Good  King,  I cry  for  justice.  Now,  as  my  voice  thou  hearest, 
So  God  befriend  the  children  that  in  thy  land  thou  rearest. 

“ The  king  that  doth  not  justice  hath  forfeited  his  claim 
Both  to  his  kingly  station  and  to  his  knightly  name ; 

He  should  not  sit  at  banquet,  clad  in  the  royal  pall, 

Nor  should  the  nobles  serve  liim  on  knee  within  the  hall. 

“ Good  King,  I am  descended  from  barons  bright  of  old, 

Who  wth  Castilian  pennons  Pelayo  did  uphold ; 

But  if  my  strain  were  lowly,  as  it  is  high  and  clear. 

Thou  still  shouldst  prop  the  feeble,  and  the  afflicted  hear. 

“ For  thee,  fierce  homicide ! draw,  draw  thy  sword  once  more. 
And  pierce  the  breast  which  wide  I spread  thy  stroke  before ; 
Because  I am  a woman,  my  life  thou  need’st  not  spare  ; 

I am  Ximena  Gomez,  my  slaughtered  father’s  hefr. 

“ Since  thou  hast  slain  the  knight  that  did  om-  faith  defend, 

And  still  to  shameful  flight  all  the  Almanzors  send, 

’T  is  but  a little  matter  that  I confront  thee  so  : 

Come,  traitor,  slay  his  daughter,  — she  needs  must  be  thy  foe.’ 

Ximena  gazed  upon  him,  but  no  reply  could  meet ; 

His  fingers  held  the  bridle,  he  vaulted  to  his  seat. 

She  turned  her  to  the  nobles,  I wot  her  cry  was  loud. 

But  not  a man  durst  follow ; slow  rode  he  tlirough  the  crowd. 


THE  CtD  AXD  THE  FIVE  MOORISH  KINGS. 


59 


THE  CID  AND  THE  FIVE  MOORISH  KINGS. 


[The  reader  will  find  the  story  of  this  ballad  in  Mr.  Southey’s  Chronicle 
(Book  I.  Sect.  4).  “ And  the  Jloors  entered  Castile  in  great  power,  for  there 
came  with  them  five  kings,”  &c.] 


AVith  fire  and  desolation  the  Moors  are  in  Castile, 

Five  Moorish  kings  together,  and  all  their  vassals  leal ; 

They ’ve  passed  in  front  of  Burgos,  through  the  Oca  Hills  they ’ve  run, 
They ’ve  plundered  Belforado,  San  Domingo’s  harm  is  done. 

In  Najai'a  and  Logrono  there ’s  waste  and  disarray  : — 

And  now  with  Christian  captives,  a very  heavy  prey. 

With  man}'  men  and  women,  and  boys  and  girls  beside. 

In  joy  and  exultation  to  their  own  realms  they  ride. 

For  neither  king  nor  noble  would  dare  their  path  to  cross. 

Until  the  good  Rodrigo  heard  of  this  skaith  and  loss ; 

In  old  Bivar  the  castle  he  heard  the  tidings  told  — 

(He  was  as  yet  a stripling,  not  twenty  summers  old). 

He  mounted  Bavieca,  his  friends  he  with  him  took, 

He  raised  the  country  round  him,  no  more  such  scorn  to  brook ; 

He  rode  to  the  hills  of  Oca,  where  then  the  Moormen  lay, 

He  conquered  all  the  Moonnen,  and  took  from  them  their  prey. 

To  every  man  had  mounted  he  gave  his  part  of  gain. 

Dispersing  the  much  ti'easure  the  Saracens  had  ta’en  ; 

The  kings  were  all  the  booty  himself  had  from  the  war. 

Them  led  he  to  the  castle,  his  stronghold  of  Bivar. 


60 


THE  CID’S  COUKTSHIP. 


He  brought  them  to  his  mother,  proud  dame  that  day  was  she ; — 
They  owned  him  for  their  Seignior,  and  then  lie  set  them  free ; 
Home  went  they,  much  commending  Kodrigo  of  Bivar, 

And  sent  him  lordly  tribute  from  their  Moorish  realms  afar. 


THE  CID’S  COURTSHIP. 


[See  Mr.  Southey’s  Chronicle  (Book  I.  Sect.  6)  for  this  part  of  the  Cid’s 
story,  as  given  in  the  General  Chronicle  of  Spain.] 


Now  of  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  great  was  the  fame  that  run. 

How  he  five  kings  had  vanquished,  proud  Moormen  every  one; 
And  how,  when  they  consented  to  hold  of  him  their  ground. 

He  freed  them  from  the  prison  wherein  they  had  been  bound. 

To  the  good  Bang  Eemandb,  in  Bnrgos  where  he  lay. 

Came  then  Ximena  Gomez,  and  thus  to  him  did  say : — 

“ I am  Don  Gomez’  daughter,  in  Gormaz  Count  was  he ; 

Him  slew  Rodrigo  of  Bivar  in  battle  valiantly. 

“ Now  I am  come  before  you,  this  day  a boon  to  crave,  — 

And  it  is  that  I to  husband  may  this  Rodrigo  have ; 

Grant  this,  and  I shall  hold  me  a happy  damosell. 

Much  honored  shall  I hold  me,  — I shall  be  mamed  well. 

“ I know  he ’s  bom  for  thriving,  none  like  him  in  the  land ; 

I know  that  none  in  battle  against  his  spear  may  stand ; 
Forgiveness  is  well  pleasing  in  God  our  Saviour’s  view. 

And  I forgive  him  freely,  for  that  my  sire  he  slew.” 


THE  CID’S  courtship. 


61 


Right  pleasing  to  Fernando  was  the  thing  she  did  propose; 

He  writes  his  letter  swiftly,  and  forth  his  foot-page  goes ; 

I wot,  when  young  Rodrigo  saw  how  the  king  did  write. 

He  leapt  on  Bavieca,  — 1 wot  his  leap  was  light. 

With  his  own  troop  of  tnie  men  forthwith  he  took  the  way. 

Three  hundred  friends  and  kinsmen,  all  gently  horn  were  they; 
All  in  one  color  mantled,  in  armor  gleaming  gay. 

New  were  both  scarf  and  scabbard,  when  they  went  forth  that  day. 

The  King  came  out  to  meet  him,  with  words  of  hearty  cheer; 
Quoth  he,  “ My  good  Rodrigo,  right  welcome  art  thou  here ; 

This  girl,  Ximena  Gomez,  would  have  thee  for  her  lord. 

Already  for  the  slaughter  her  grace  she  doth  accord. 

“I  pray  thee  be  consenting,  — my  gladness  will  be  great; 

Thou  shalt  have  lands  in  plenty  to  strengthen  thine  estate.” 

“ Lord  King,”  Rodrigo  answers,  “ in  this  and  all  beside. 
Command,  and  I '11  obey  thee.  The  girl  shall  be  my  bride ! ” 

But  when  the  fair  Ximena  came  forth  to  plight  her  hand, 

Rodrigo,  gazing  on  her,  his  face  could  not  command : 

He  stood  and  blushed  before  her ; — thus  at  the  last  said  he : 

“ I slew  thy  sire,  Ximena,  but  not  in  villany  : 

“ In  no  disguise  I slew  him,  — man  against  man  I stood ; 

There  was  some  wrong  between  us,  and  I did  shed  his  blood. 

I slew  a man,  I owe  a man ; fair  lady,  by  God’s  grace  ! 

An  honored  husband  thou  shalt  have  in  thy  dead  father’s  place.” 


62 


THE  CID’S  wedding. 


THE  CID’S  WEDDING. 


[The  following  ballad,  which  contains  some  cui-ious  traits  of  rough  antique 
manners,  is  not  included  in  Escobar’s  collection.  ■ There  is  one  there  descrip- 
tive of  the  same  event,  but  apparently  executed  by  a much  more  modern 
hand.] 


Within  his  hall  of  Burgos  the  King  prepares  tho-feast; 

He  makes  his  preparation  for  many  a noble  guest. 

It  is  a joyful  city,  it  is  a gallant  day, 

'T  is  the  Campeador’s  wedding,  and  who  will  bide  away  ? 

Layn  Calvo,  the  Lord  Bishop,  he  first  comes  forth  the  gate; 

Behind  him  comes  Buy  Diaz,  in  all  his  bridal  state ; 

The  crowd  makes  way  before  them,  as  up  the  street  they  go; 

For  the  multitude  of  people,  their  steps  must  needs  be  slow. 

The  King  had  taken  order  that  they  should  rear  an  arch, 

From  house  to  house  all  over,  in  the  way  that  they  must  march; 
They  have  hung  it  all  with  lances,  and  shields,  and  glittering  helms, 
Brought  by  the  Campeador  from  out  the  Moorish  realms. 

They  have  scattered  olive-branches  and  rushes  on  the  street, 

And  the  ladies  fling  down  garlands  at  the  Campeador’s  feet; 

With  tapestry  and  broideiy  their  balconies  between. 

To  do  his  bridal  honor,  their  walls  the  burghers  screen. 


THE  CID’S  wedding. 


They  lead  the  bulls  before  them  all  covered  o’er  with  trappings  ; 
The  little  boys  pursue  them  with  bootings  and  with  clap])ings ; 
The  fool,  with  cap  and  bladder,  upon  his  ass  goes  prancing. 
Amidst  troops  of  captive  maidens  with  bells  and  cymbals  dancing. 

With  antics  and  tvdth  fooleries,  with  shouting  and  with  laughter. 
They  fill  the  streets  of  Burgos,  — and  the  Devil  he  comes  after; 
For  the  King  has  hired  the  horned  fiend  for  twenty  maravedis. 
And  there  he  goes,  with  hoofs  for  toes,  to  terrify  the  ladies. 

Then  comes  the  bride  Ximena,  — the  king  he  holds  her  hand ; 
And  the  Queen  ; and,  all  in  fur  and  pall,  the  nobles  of  the  land. 
All  down  the  street  the  cars  of  wheat  are  round  Ximena  flying. 
But  the  King  lifts  off  her  bosom  sweet  whatever  there  is  lying. 

Quoth  Suero,  when  he  saw  it,  (his  thought  you  understand,) 

“ ’T  is  a fine  thing  to  be  a King,  — but  Heaven  make  me  a Hand  1 
The  King  was  very  meny,  when  he  was  told  of  this. 

And  swore  the  bride,  ere  eventide,  must  give  the  boy  a kiss. 

The  King  went  always  talking,  but  she  held  dotvn  her  head. 

And  seldom  gave  an  answer  to  anything  he  said  ; 

It  was  better  to  be  silent,  among  such  a crowd  of  folk. 

Than  utter  tvords  so  meaningless  as  she  did  when  she  spoke. 


64 


THE  CID  AND  THE  LEPER. 


THE  CID  Al^D  THE  LEPER. 


[Like  our  own  Robert  the  Bruce,  the  great  Spanish  hero  is  represented  as 
exhibiting,  on  many  occasions,  gi-eat  gentleness  of  disposition  and  compassion. 
But  while  old  Barbour  is  contented  with  such  simple  anecdotes  as  that  of  a poor 
laundress  being  suddenly  taken  ill  with  the  pains  of  childbirth,  and  the  King 
stopping  the  march  of  his  army  rather  than  leave  her  unprotected,  the  minstrels 
of  Spain,  never  losing  an  opportunity  of  gratifying  the  superstitious  propensi- 
ties of  their  audience,  are  sui%  to  let  no  similar  incident  in  their  champion’s 
history  pass  without  a miracle.] 


He  has  ta’en  some  twenty  gentlemen,  along  with  him  to  go, 

Tor  ho  will  pay  that  ancient  vow  he  to  Saint  James  doth  owe ; 

To  Compostella,  where  the  shrine  doth  by  the  altar  stand, 

The  good  Rodrigo  de  Bivar  is  riding  through  the  land. 

Where’er  he  goes,  much  alms  he  throws,  to  feeble  folk  and  poor ; 

Beside  the  way  for  him  they  pray,  liim  blessings  to  procure ; 

Tor,  God  and  Mary  Mother,  their  heavenly  grace  to  win. 

His  hand  was  ever  bountiful : great  was  his  joy  therein. 

And  there,  in  middle  of  the  path,  a leper  did  appear ; 

In  a deep  slough  the  leper  lay ; to  help  would  none  come  near, 

Though  earnestly  he  thence  did  cry,  “For  God  our  Saviour’s  sake. 
From  out  this  fearful  jeopardy  a Christian  brother  take.” 

When  Roderick  heard  that,  piteous  word,  he  from  his  horse  came  down ; 
For  all  they  said,  no  stay  he  made,  that  noble  champioun ; 

He  reached  his  hand  to  pluck  him  forth,  of  fear  was  no  account. 

Then  mounted  on  his  steed  of  worth,  and  made  the  leper  mount. 


Tri!-:  CID  AND  THE  LEPER. 


Behind  him  rode  the  leprous  man ; when  to  their  hostelrie 
They  came,  he  made  him  eat  with  him  at  table  cheerfully ; 

While  all  the  rest  from  that  poor  guest  -ivith  loathing  shrunk  away. 

To  his  own  bed  the  wetch  he  led,  — beside  him  there  he  lay. 

All  at  the  mid-hour  of  the  night,  while  good  Rodrigo  slept, 

A breath  came  from  the  leprosite,  which  through  his  shoulders  crept ; 
Right  through  the  body,  by  the  heart,  passed  forth  that  breathing  cold ; 

I wot  he  leaped  up  with  a start,  in  terrors  manifold. 

He  groped  for  him  in  the  bed,  but  him  he  could  not  find ; 

Through  the  dark  chamber  groped  he  with  veiy  anxious  mind; 

Loudly  he  lifted  up  his  voice,  with  speed  a lamp  was  brought. 

Yet  nowhere  was  the  leper  seen,  though  far  and  near  they  sought. 

He  turned  him  to  his  chamber,  God  wot ! perplexed  sore 
With  that  which  had  befallen,  — when  lo  ! his  face  before 
There  stood  a man  all  clothed  in  vesture  shining  white ; 

Thus  said  the  vision,  “ Sleepest  thou,  or  wakest  thou.  Sir  Knight  1 ” 

“ I sleep  not,”  quoth  Rodrigo  ; “ but  tell  me  who  art  thou, 

Tor,  in  the  midst  of  darkness,  much  light  is  on  thy  browl  ” 

“ I am  the  holy  Lazarus,  — I come  to  speak  with  thee ; 

I am  the  same  poor  leper  thou  savedst  for  charity. 

“ Not  vain  the  trial,  nor  in  vain  thy  victoiT  hath  been ; 

God  favors  thee,  for  that  my  pain  thou  didst  relieve  yestreen. 

There  shall  be  honor  with  thee,  in  battle  and  in  peace. 

Success  in  all  thy  doings,  and  plentiful  increase. 

“ Sti'ong  enemies  shall  not  prevail  tliy  greatness  to  undo  ; 

Thy  name  shall  make  men’s  cheeks  full  pale,  — Christians  and  Moslem  too; 
A death  of  honor  shalt  thou  die,  such  grace  to  thee  is  given. 

Thy  soul  shall  part  victoriously,  and  be  received  in  heaven.” 

5 


BAVIECA. 


6fi 

■\Vlien  he  these  gracious  words  had  said,  the  spirit  vanislied  quite. 
Rodrigo  rose  and  knelt  him  down,  — ho  knelt  till  morning  light ; 
Unto  the  Heavenly  Father,  and  Mary  Mother  dear. 

He  made  his  prayer  right  humbly,  till  dawned  the  morning  clear. 


BAVIECA. 


[Montaigne,  in  his  curious  Essay,  entitled  “ Des  Destrier.”,”  says  that  all 
the  world  knows  everything  about  Bucephiilus.  The  name  of  the  favorite 
charger  of  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz  is  scarcely  less  celebrated.  Notice  is  taken  of 
him  in  almost  every  one  of  the  hundred  ballads  concerning  the  history  of  his 
master,  — and  there  are  some  among  them  of  which  the  horse  is  more  truly 
the  hero  than  his  rider.  In  one  of  these  ballads,  the  Cid  is  giving  directions 
about  his  funeral ; he  desires  that  they  shall  place  his  body  “ in  full  armor  upon 
Bavieca,”  and  so  conduct  him  to  the  church  of  San  Pedro  de  Cardena.  This 
was  done  accordingly ; and  says  another  ballad : — 

Tmxeron  pues  a Babieca ; 

T en  mirandole  se  puso 
Tan  triste  como  si  fuera 
Mas  rasonable  que  bruto. 

In  the  Cid’s  last  will,  mention  is  also  made  of  his  noble  charger.  “ When  ye 
bury  Bavieca,  dig  deep,”  says  Buy  Diaz;  “ for  shameful  thing  were  it  that  he 
should  be  eaten  by  curs,  who  hath  trampled  down  so  much  currish  flesh  of 
Moors.”  He  was  buried  near  his  master,  under  the  trees  in  front  of  the  con- 
vent of  San  Pedro  of  Cardena.] 


BAVIECA. 


G7 


The  King  looked  on  him  kindly,  as  on  a vassal  tnie ; 

Then  to  the  Iving  Ruy  Diaz  spake,  after  reverence  due  : 

“ 0 King,  the  thing  is  shameful,  that  any  man  beside 
The  liege  lord  of  Castile  himself  should  Bavieca  ride  : 

“ For  neither  Spain  nor  Araby  could  another  charger  bring 
So  good  as  he,  and  certes,  the  best  befits  my  king. 

But  that  you  may  behold  him,  and  know  him  to  the  core, 

I ’ll  make  him  go  as  he  was  wont  when  his  nostrils  smelt  the  Moor.” 

With  that,  the  Cid,  clad  as  he  was  in  mantle  fuired  and  \vide. 

On  Bavieca  vaulting,  put  the  rowel  in  his  side ; 

And  up  and  do\vn,  and  round  and  round,  so  fierce  was  his  career. 
Streamed  like  a pennon  on  the  wind  Ruy  Diaz’  minivere. 

And  all  that  saw  them  praised  them,  — they  lauded  man  and  horee. 
As  matched  well,  and  rivalless  for  gallantry  and  foi'ce  ; 

Ne’er  had  they  looked  on  horseman  might  to  this  knight  come  near, 
Nor  on  other  charger  worthy  of  such  a cavalier. 

Thus,  to  and  fi'o  a-rushing,  the  fierce  and  ftirious  steed. 

He  snapped  in  twain  his  hither  rein  ; — “ God  pity  now  the  Cid  1 
God  pity  Diaz  ! ” cried  the  lords ; — but  when  they  looked  again. 
They  saw  Ruy  Diaz  ruling  him  with  the  fragment  of  his  rein ; 

They  saw  him  proudly  ruling,  with  gesture  firm  and  calm. 

Like  a true  lord  commanding,  and  obeyed  as  by  a lamb. 

And  so  he  led  him  foaming  and  panting  to  the  King ; — 

But  “ No  ! ” said  Don  Alphonso,  “ it  were  a shameful  thing 

That  peerless  Bavieca  should  ever  be  bestrid 

By  any  mortal  but  Bivar,  — mount,  mount  again,  my  Cid ! ” 


C8 


THE  EXCOMMUXICATION  OF  THE  CID. 


THE  EXCOIVIMUNICATION  OF  THE  CID. 


[The  last  specimen  I shall  give  of  the  Old  ballads  is  one  the  subject  of  which 
is  evidently  of  the  most  apocryphal  cast.  It  is,  however,  so  far  as  I recollect, 
the  only  one  of  all  that  immense  collection  that  is  quoted  or  alluded  to  in  Don 
Quixote.  “ Sancho,”  cried  the  knight,  “ I am  afraid  of  being  excommunicated 
for  having  laid  violent  hands  upon  a man  in  holy  orders,  Juxta  illud;  si  quis 
suadenle  diabolo,  But  yet,  now  I think  better  on  it,  I never  touched  him 
with  my  hands,  but  only  with  my  lance;  besides,  I did  not  in  the  least  suspect 
1 had  to  do  with  priests,  whom  I honor  and  revere  as  every  good  Catholic  and 
faithful  Christian  ought  to  do,  but  rather  took  them  to  be  evil  spirits.  Well,  let 
the  worst  come  to  the  worst,  I remember  what  befell  the  Cid  Ruy  Diaz,  when 
he  broke  to  pieces  the  chair  of  a king’s  ambassador  in  the  Pope’s  presence,  for 
which  he  was  excommunicated;  which  did  not  hinder  the  worthy  Rodrigo 
de  Bivar  from  behaving  himself  that  day  like  a valorous  knight  and  a man  of 
honor.”] 

It  was  when  from  Spain  across  the  main  the  Cid  had  come  to  Rome, 

He  chanced  to  see  chairs  four  and  three  beneath  Saint  Peter’s  dome : 

“ Now  tell,  I pray,  what  chairs  be  they  1”  — “ Seven  kings  do  sit  thereon. 
As  well  doth  suit,  all  at  the  foot  of  the  Holy  Father’s  throne. 

“ The  Pope  he  sitteth  above  them  all,  that  they  may  kiss  his  toe. 

Below  the  keys  the  Flower-de-lys  doth  make  a gallant  show ; 

For  his  great  puissance,  the  King  of  France  next  to  the  Pope  may  sit, 

The  rest  more  low,  all  in  a row,  as  doth  their  station  fit.” 

“ Ha ! ” quoth  the  Cid,  “ now,  God  forbid  ! it  is  a shame,  I wiss, 

To  see  the  Castle  planted  below  the  Flower-de-lys. 

No  harm,  I hope,  good  Father  Pope,  although  I move  thy  chair.” 

In  pieces  small  he  kicked  it  all  (’t  was  of  the  ivory  fair) : — 


THE  EXCOMMUNICATION  OF  THE  C!I). 


69 


The  Pope’s  own  seat  he  from  his  feet  did  kick  it  far  away, 

And  the  Spanish  chair  he  planted  upon  its  place  that  day ; 

Above  them  all  he  planted  it,  and  laughed  right  bitterly ; 

Looks  sour  and  bad  I trow  he  had,  as  grim  as  grim  might  be. 

Now  when  the  Pope  was  aware  of  this,  he  was  an  angry  man. 

His  lips  that  night,  with  solemn  rite,  pronounced  the  awful  ban ; 

The  curse  of  God,  who  died  on  rood,  was  on  that  sinner’s  head ; 

To  hell  and  woe  man’s  soul  must  go  if  once  that  curse  be  said. 

I wot,  when  the  Cid  was  aware  of  tliis,  a woful  man  was  he. 

At  da-\vn  of  day  he  came  to  pray  at  the  blessed  Father’s  knee : 

Absolve  me,  blessed  Father ! have  pity  on  my  prayer. 

Absolve  my  soal,  and  penance  I for  my  sin  will  bear. 

“ Who  is  this  sinner,”  quoth  the  Pope,  “ that  at  my  foot  doth  kneel  ? ” 

“I  am  Rodrigo  Diaz,  — a poor  baron  of  Castile.” 

Much  marvelled  all  were  in  the  hall,  when  that  name  they  heard  him  say ; 
“Rise  up,  rise  up  ! ” the  Pope  he  said,  “ I do  thy  guilt  away ; — 

“ I do  thy  guilt  awmy,”  he  said,  — “ my  curse  I blot  it  out : 

God  save  Rodrigo  Diaz,  my  Christian  champion  stout ; 

I trow,  if  I had  kno^vn  thee,  my  grief  it  had  been  sore. 

To  curse  Ruy  Diaz  de  Bivar,  God’s  scourge  upon  the  Moor.” 


70 


GAKCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS. 


GARCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS. 


[The  crowns  of  Castile  and  Leon  being  at  length  joined  in  the  person  of  King 
Ferdinand,  surnamed  El  Santo,  the  authority  of  the  Moors  in  Spain  was  des- 
tined to  receive  many  severe  blows  from  the  united  efforts  of  two  Christian 
states  which  had  in  former  times  too  often  exerted  their  vigor  against  each 
other.  The  most  import.ant  event  of  King  Ferdinand’s  reign  was  the  conquest 
of  Seville,  which  gre.at  city  yielded  to  his  arms  in  the  year  1248,  after  sustain- 
ing a long  and  arduous  siege  of  sixteen  months. 

Don  Garci  Perez  de  Vargas  was  one  of  the  most  distinguished  warriors  who 
on  this  occasion  fought  under  the  banners  of  Ferdinand;  and  accordingly  there 
are  many  ballads  of  which  he  is  the  hero.  The  incident  celebrated  in  th.at 
which  follows  is  thus  told,  with  a few  variations,  in  Mariana  (Book  XIII. 
Chap.  7):  — 

“ Above  all  others  there  signalized  himself  in  these  affairs  that  Garci  Perez 
de  Vargas,  a native  of  Toledo,  of  whose  valor  so  many  marvellous  and  almost 
incredible  achievements  are  related.  One  day,  about  the  beginning  of  the 
siege,  this  Garci  and  another  with  him  were  riding  by  the  side  of  the  river,  at 
some  distance  from  the  outposts,  when  of  a sudden  there  came  upon  them  a 
party  of  seven  Moors  on  horseback.  The  companion  of  Perez  was  for  returning 
immediately,  but  he  replied  that  ‘ Never,  even  though  he  should  lose  his  life  for 
it,  would  he  consent  to  the  baseness  of  flight.’  With  that  his  companion  riding 
off,  Perez  armed  himself,  closed  his  visor,  and  put  his  lance  in  the  rest.  But 
the  enemies,  when  they  knew  who  it  was,  declined  the  combat.  He  had  there- 
fore pursued  his  way  by  himself  for  some  space,  when  he  perceived  that  in 
lacing  the  head-piece  and  shutting  the  visor  he  had,  by  inadvertence,  dropped 
his  scarf.  He  immediately  returned  upon  his  steps,  that  he  might  seek  for  it. 
The  King,  as  it  happened,  had  his  eyes  upon  Perez  all  this  time,  for  the  royal 
tent  looked  towards  the  place  where  he  was  riding;  and  he  never  doubted  that 
the  knight  had  tnrhed  back  for  the  purpose  of  provoking  the  Moors  to  the  com- 
bat. But  they  avoided  him  as  before,  and  he,  having  regained  his  scarf,  mine 
in  safety  to  the  camp. 


GARCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS. 


71 


“ The  honor  of  the  action  was  much  increased  by  tliis  circumstance,  that, 
althougli  frequently  pressed  to  disclose  tiie  name  of  the  gentleman  who  had  de- 
serted him  in  that  moment  of  danger,  Perez  would  never  consent  to  do  so,  for 
his  modesty  was  equal  to  his  bravery.” 

A little  fartlier  on  Mariana  relates  that  Garci  Perez  had  a dispute  with  anoth- 
er gentleman,  who  thought  proper  to  assert  th.at  Garci  had  no  right  to  assume 
the  coat  of  arms  which  he  wore.  “ A sally  ha^dng  been  made  by  the  Moors, 
that  gentleman,  among  many  more,  made  his  escape;  but  Garci  stood  firm  to 
his  post,  and  never  came  back  to  the  camp  until  the  Moors  were  driven  agiiiu 
into  the  city.  He  came  with  his  shield  all  bruised  and  battered  to  the  place 
where  the  gentleman  was  standing,  and,  pointing  to  the  effaced  bearing  which 
was  on  it,  said,  ‘ Indeed,  sir,  it  must  be  confessed  that  you  show  more  respect 
than  I do  to  this  same  coat  of  arms,  for  you  keep  yours  bright  and  unsullied, 
while  mine  is  sadly  discolored.’  The  gentleman  was  sorely  ashamed,  and 
thenceforth  Garci  Perez  bore  his  achievement  without  gainsaying  or  dispute.”  1 


King  Ferdinand  alone  did  stand  one  day  upon  the  hill, 

Suiweying  all  his  leaguer,  and  the  ramparts  of  Seville  ; 

The  sight  was  grand,  when  Ferdinand  by  proud  Seville  was  lying. 
O’er  tower  and  tree  far  off  to  see  the  Christian  banners  flying. 

Down  chanced  the  King  his  eye  to  fling,  where  far  the  camp  below 
Two  gentlemen  along  the  glen  were  riding  soft  and  slow ; 

As  void  of  fear  each  cavalier  seemed  to  he  riding  there. 

As  some  strong  hound  may  pace  around  the  roebuck’s  thicket  lair. 

It  was  Don  Garci  Perez,  and  he  would  breathe  the  air. 

And  he  had  ta’en  a knight  with  him,  that  as  lief  had  been  elsewhere ; 
For  soon  this  knight  to  Garci  said,  “ Ride,  ride  we,  or  we  ’re  lost ! 

I see  the  glance  of  helm  and  lance,  — it  is  the  Moorish  host ! ” 

The  Lord  of  Vargas  turned  him  round,  his  tnisty  squire  was  near, — 
The  helmet  on  his  brow  he  bound,  his  gauntlet  grasped  the  spear ; 
With  that  upon  his  saddle-tree  he  planted  him  right  steady, — 

“ Now  come,”  quoth  he,  “ whoe’er  they  be,  I trow  they  ’ll  find  us  ready 


72 


GARCI  PEREZ  DE  VARGAS. 


By  this  the  knight  who  rode  witli  liim  had  turned  liis  horse’s  head, 
And  up  the  glen  in  fearful  trim  unto  the  camp  had  fled. 

“ Ha ! gone  'i  ” quotli  Garci  Perez  : — he  smiled,  and  said  no  more, 
But  slowly,  with  his  esquire,  rode  as  he  rode  before. 

It  was  the  Count  Lorenzo,  just  then  it  happened  so. 

He  took  his  stand  by  Ferdinand,  and  with  him  gazed  below : 

“My  liege,”  quoth  he,  “seven  Moors  I see  a coming  from  the  wood. 
Now  bring  they  all  the  blows  they  may,  I trow  they  ’ll  find  as  good; 
But  it  is  Don  Garci  Perez,  — if  his  cognizance  they  know, 

I guess  it  will  be  little  pain  to  give  them  blow  for  blow.” 

The  Moors  from  forth  the  greenwood  came  riding  one  by  one, 

A gallant  troop,  with  armor  resplendent  in  the  sun  ; 

Full  haughty  was  their  bearing,  as  o’er  the  sward  they  came, 

"While  the  calm  Lord  of  "Vargas  his  march  was  still  the  same. 

They  stood  drawn  up  in  order,  while  past  them  all  rode  he; 

For  when  upon  his  shield  they  saw  the  sable  blazonry. 

And  the  wings  of  the  Black  Eagle,  that  o’er  his  crest  were  spread. 
They  knew  Don  Garci  Perez,  and  never  word  they  said. 

He  took  the  casque  from  off  his  head,  and  gave  it  to  the  squire  : 

“ My  friend,”  quoth  he,  “ no  need  I see  tvliy  I my  brows  should  tire.” 
But  as  he  doffed  the  helmet,  he  saw  his  scarf  was  gone ; 

“I ’ve  dropped  it  sure,”  quoth  Garci,  “when  I put  my  helmet  on.” 

He  looked  around  and  saw  the  scarf,  for  still  the  Moors  were  near. 
And  they  had  picked  it  from  the  sward,  and  looped  it  on  a spear. 

“ These  Moors,”  quoth  Garci  Perez,  “ uncourteous  Moors  they  be  ; 
Now,  by  my  soul,  the  scarf  they  stole,  yet  durst  not  question  me  ! 

"Now,  reach  once  more  my  helmet.”  The  esquire  said  him  nay, 
“For  a silken  string,  why  should  ye  fling  perchance  your  life  away?  ” 
“ I had  it  from  my  lady,”  quoth  Garci,  “ long  ago. 

And  never  Moor  that  scarf,  be  sure,  in  proud  Seville  shall  show.” 


THK  POUNDER. 


73 


But  when  the  Moslem  saw  him,  they  stood  in  firm  an-ay,  — 

He  rode  among  their  armed  throng,  lie  rode  right  furiously : 

“ Stand,  stand,  ye  thieves  and  robbers,  lay  down  my  lady’s  pledge ! ” 
He  cried  ; — and  ever  as  he  cried,  they  felt  his  falchion’s  edge. 

That  day  the  Lord  of  Vargas  came  to  the  camp  alone; 

The  scarf,  his  lady’s  largess,  around  his  breast  was  thrown  ; 

Bare  was  his  head,  his  sword  was  red,  and,  from  his  pommel  strung, 
Seven  turbans  green,  sore  hacked  I ween,  before  Don  Garci  hung. 


THE  POUNDER, 


[A  BALLAD  concerning  another  doughty  knight  of  the  same  family,  and  most 
probably,  considering  the  date,  a brother  of  Garci  Perez  de  Vargas.  Its  story 
is  thus  alluded  to  by  Don  Quixote,  in  the  chapter  of  the  Windmills:  — 

“ However,  the  loss  of  his  lance  was  no  small  affliction  to  him ; and  as  he  was 
making  his  complaint  about  it  to  his  squire, — I have  read,  said  he,  friend  San- 
cho,  that  a certain  Spanish  knight,  whose  name  was  Diego  Perez  de  Vargas, 
having  broken  his  sword  in  the  heat  of  an  engagement,  pulled  up  by  the  roots  a 
wild  olive-tree,  or  at  least  tore  down  a massy  branch,  and  did  such  wonderful 
execution,  crushing  and  grinding  so  many  iMoors  with  it  that  day,  that  he  won 
for  himself  and  his  posterity  the  surname  of  The  Pounder,  or  Bruiser.  \Ma- 
chuca,  from  machucar,  to  pound  as  in  a mortar.]  I tell  this,  because  I intend 
to  tear  up  the  next  oak,  or  holm-tree,  we  meet ; with  the  trunk  whereof  I hope 
to  perform  such  deeds  that  thou  wilt  esteem  thj'self  happy  in  having  had  the 
honor  to  behold  them,  and  been  the  ocular  witness  of  achievements  which  pos- 
terity will  scarce  be  able  to  believe.  — Heaven  grant  you  maj'l  cried  Sancho: 
I believe  it  all,  because  your  worship  says  it.”] 


74 


THE  POUNDER. 


The  Christians  have  beleaguered  the  famous  walls  of  Xeres  : 

Among  them  are  Don  Alvar  and  Don  Diego  Perez, 

And  many  other  gentlemen,  who,  day  succeeding  day. 

Give  challenge  to  the  Saracen  and  all  his  chivalry. 

When  rages  the  hot  battle  before  the  gates  of  Xeres, 

By  trace  of  gore  ye  may  explore  the  dauntless  path  of  Perez : 

No  knight  like  Don  Diego,  — no  sword  like  his  is  found 
In  all  the  host,  to  hew  the  boast  of  Paynims  to  the  ground. 

It  fell  one  day,  when  furiously  they  battled  on  the  plain, 

Diego  shivered  both  his  lance  and  trusty  blade  in  twain  ; 

The  Moors  that  saw  it  shouted,  for  esquire  none  was  near 
To  serve  Diego  at  his  need  with  falchion,  mace,  or  spear. 

Loud,  loud  he  blew  his  bugle,  sore  troubled  was  his  eye. 

But  by  God’s  grace  before  his  face  there  stood  a tree  full  nigh,  — 

An  olive-tree  with  branches  strong,  close  by  the  wall  of  Xeres  : 

“ Yon  goodly  bough  will  serve,  I trow,”  quoth  Don  Diego  Perez. 

A gnarled  branch  he  soon  did  wrench  down  from  that  olive  strong. 
Which,  o’er  his  head-piece  brandishing,  he  spurs  among  the  throng. 

God  wot ! full  many  a Pagan  must  in  his  saddle  reel : 

Wliat  leech  may  cure,  what  beadsman  shrive,  if  once  that  weight  ye  fecll 

But  when  Don  Alvar  saw  him  thus  bruising  down  the  foe. 

Quoth  he,  “ I ’ve  seen  some  flail-armed  man  belabor  barley  so : 

Sure  mortal  mould  did  ne’er  enfold  such  mastery  of  power,  — 

Let ’s  call  Diego  Perez  the  Pounder,  from  this  hour.” 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER. 


75 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER. 


[The  next  four  ballads  relate  to  the  history  of  Don  Pedro,  King  of  Castile, 
called  THE  Cruel. 

An  ingenious  person  not  long  ago  published  a work,  the  avowed  purpose  of 
which  was  to  prove  that  Tiberius  was  a humane  and  contemplative  prince,  who 
retired  to  the  island  of  Capre®  only  that  he  might  the  better  indulge  in  the 
harmless  luxury  of  philosophic  meditation:  — and,  in  like  manner,  Pedro  the 
Cruel  has  found  in  these  latter  times  his  defenders  and  apologists ; above  all, 
Voltaire. 

There  may  be  traced,  wdthout  doubt,  in  the  circumstances  which  attended 
his  accession,  something  to  palliate  th’  atrocity  of  several  of  his  bloody  acts. 
His  father  had  treated  his  mother  with  contempt : he  had  not  only  entertained, 
as  his  mistress,  in  her  lifetime,  a lady  of  the  powerful  family  of  Guzman,  but 
actually  proclaimed  that  lady  his  queen,  and  brought  up  her  sons  as  princes  in 
his  palace;  nay,  he  had  even  betrayed  some  intentions  of  violating,  in  their 
favor,  the  order  of  succession,  and  the  rights  of  Pedro.  And,  accordingly,  no 
sooner  was  Alphonso  dead,  and  Pedro  acknowledged  by  the  nobility,  than  Leo- 
nora de  Guzman  and  her  sons,  whether  from  consciousness  of  guilt,  or  from 
fear  of  violence,  or  from  both  of  these  causes,  betook  themselves  to  various 
places  of  strength,  where  they  endeavored  to  defend  themselves  against  the  au- 
thority of  the  new  King.  After  a little  time,  matters  were  accommodated  by 
the  interference  of  friends,  and  Dona  Leonora  took  up  her  residence  at  Seville; 
hut  Pedro  was  suddenly,  while  in  that  city,  seized  with  a distemper  which  his 
physicians  said  must,  in  all  probability,  have  a mortal  termination;  and  during 
his  confinement  (which  lasted  for  several  w'eeks)  many  intrigues  were  set  afoot, 
and  the  pretensions  of  various  candidates  for  the  throne  openly  canvassed  among 
the  nobilit}'  of  Castile.  Whether  the  King  had,  on  his  recovery,  discovered  any- 
thing indicative  of  treasonous  intentions  in  the  recent  conduct  of  Leonora  and 
her  family,  — w'hich,  all  things  considered,  seems  not  improbable,  — or  whether 
he  merely  suffered  himself  (as  was  said  at  the  time)  to  be  over-persuaded  by 


76 


TItK  IMUliDF.U  OK  THK  MASTKK. 


the  vindictive  arguments  of  his  own  mother,  the  Qneen-Dowager,  the  fact  is 
certain,  tliat  in  tlie  course  of  a lew  days  Doha  Leonora  was  arrested  and  put  to 
deatlx  by  Pedro’s  command,  in  the  castle  of  'J'alaveyra.  Don  Fadrique,  or 
Frederick,  one  of  lior  sons,  who  had  obtained  the  dignity  of  Master  of  the  Order 
of  Saint  lago,  fled  upon  this  into  Portugal,  and  ortified  himself  in  the  city  of 
Coimbra ; while  another  of  them,  Don  Fmrique,  or  Henry,  Lord  of  Trastamarn, 
took  refuge  at  tlie  Court  of  Aragon,  openly  renouncing  his  allegiance  to  the 
crown  of  Castile,  and  professing  himself  henceforth,  in  all  things,  the  subject 
and  vassal  of  the  prince  who  gave  him  protection. 

Henry  of  Trastamara  was,  from  this  time,  the  declared  and  active  enemy  of 
his  brother;  and  in  consequence  of  his  influence  and  that  of  his  mother’s  kin- 
dred, but  most  of  all  in  consequence  of  Don  Pedro’s  own  atrocious  proceedings, 
Castile  itself  was  filled  with  continual  tumults  and  insurrections. 

Don  Fadrique,  however,  made  his  peace  with  Pedro.  After  a lapse  of  many 
months,  he  was  invited  to  come  to  the  court  at  Seville  and  take  his  share  in  the 
amusements  of  an  approaching  tournament.  He  accepted  the  invitation,  but 
was  received  with  terrible  coldness,  and  immediately  executed  within  the  pal- 
ace. The  friends  of  Pedro  asserted  that  the  King  had  that  very  day  detected 
Don  Fadrique  in  a correspondence  with  his  brother  Henry  and  the  Aragonese; 
while  popular  belief  attributed  the  slaughter  of  the  ^I;ister  to  the  unhappy  in- 
fluence which  the  too-celebrated  Maria  de  Padiila  had  long  ere  this  begun  to 
exercise  over  Pedro’s  mind. 

Maria  was  often,  in  consequence  of  her  close  intimacy  with  .Tews,  called  by 
the  name  of  their  h.ated  race;  but  she  was  in  reality  not  only  of  Christian,  but 
of  noble  descent  in  Spain.  However  that  might  be,  Pedro  found  her  in  the 
family  of  his  minister,  Albuquerque,  where  she  had  been  brought  up,  loved  her 
with  all  the  violence  of  his  temper,  and  made  her  his  wife  in  all  things  but  the 
name.  Although  political  motives  induced  him,  not  long  afterwards,  to  con- 
tract an  alliance  with  a princess  of  the  French  blood  royal,  — the  unfortunate 
Blanche  of  Bourbon,  — he  lived  with  the  young  Queen  but  a few  days,  and 
then  deserted  her  for  ever,  for  the  sake  of  this  beautiful,  jealous,  and  imperious 
mistress,  whom  he  declared  to  be  his  true  wife. 

The  reader  will  observe  that  there  is  a strange  peculiarity  in  the  structure  of 
the  bailad  which  narrates  the  Murder  of  the  Master  of  Saint  lago.  The  unfor- 
tunate Fadrique  is  introduced  at  the  beginning  of  it  as  telling  his  own  story, 
and  so  he  carries  it  on,  in  the  first  person,  until  the  order  for  liis  execution  is 


THE  MURDER  OF  THE  MASTER. 


77 


pronounced  by  Pedro.  The  sequel  is  given  as  if  by  another  voice.'  I can  sup- 
pose this  singularity  to  have  had  a musical  origin. 

The  Master  was  slain  in  the  year  1358.] 


I SAT  alone  in  Coimbra,  the  to^vn  myself  had  ta’en, 

When  came  into  my  chamber  a messenger  from  Spain ; 

There  was  no  treason  in  his  look,  an  honest  look  he  wore ; 

I from  his  hand  the  letter  took,  — my  brother’s  seal  it  bore. 

“ Come,  brother  dear,  the  day  draws  near,” — ’twas  thus  bespoke  the  Eiing,— • 
“Por  plenar  court  and  knightly  sport  within  the  listed  ring.” 

Alas  ! unhappy  Master,  I easy  credence  lent ; 

Alas  ! for  fast  and  faster  I at  his  bidding  went. 

When  I set  off  from  Coimbra,  and  passed  the  bound  of  Spain, 

I had  a goodly  company  of  spearmen  in  my  train,  — 

A gallant  force,  a score  of  horse,  and  sturd}'  mules  thirteen  : 

With  joyful  heart  I held  my  course,  — my  years  were  young  and  green. 

A journey  of  good  fifteen  days  within  the  week  was  done,  — 

I halted  not,  though  signs  I got,  dark  tokens  many  a one ; 

A strong  stream  mastered  horse  and  mule,  — I lost  my  poniard  fine,  — 
And  left  a page  within  the  pool,  — a faithful  page  of  mine ; 

Yet  on  to  proud  Sertlle  I rode ; when  to  the  gate  I came, 

Before  me  stood  a man  of  God,  to  warn  me  from  the  same ; 

The  words  he  spake  I would  not  hear,  his  grief  I would  not  see, 

I seek,  said  I,  my  brother  dear,  — I will  not  stop  for  thee. 

No  lists  were  closed  upon  the  sand,  for  royal  tommey  dight ; 

No  pawing  horse  was  seen  to  stand,  — I saw  no  anned  knight,  — 

Yet  aye  I gave  my  mule  the  spur,  and  hastened  through  the  to^vn  ; 

I stopped  before  his  palace-door,  — then  gayly  leapt  I down. 


78 


Tll'i  ML'HDKli  OF  THE  MASTER. 


They  shut  the  door,  — my  trust}’  score  of  friends  were  left  behind ; 

I would  not  hear  their  whispered  fear,  — no  harm  was  in  my  mind ; 

I greeted  Pedro,  but  he  turned,  — I wot  his  look  was  cold ; 

His  brother  from  his  knee  he  spurned ; — “ Stand  off,  thou  Master  bold  ! 

“ Stand  off,  stand  off,  thou  traitor  strong  ! ” — ’t  was  thus  he  said  to  me, 
“ Thy  time  on  earth  shall  not  be  long,  — what  brings  thee  to  my  knee  ? 
My  lady  craves  a new-year’s  gift,  and  I will  keep  my  word ; 

Thy  head  methinks  may  serve  the  shift,  — Good  yeoman,  draw  thy  sword 


The  Master  lay  upon  the  floor  ere  well  that  word  was  said  ; 

Then  in  a charger  off  they  bore  his  pale  and  bloody  head  ; 

They  brought  it  to  Padilla’s  chair, — they  bowed  them  on  the  knee; 
“ King  Pedro  greets  thee,  lady  fair.  Ids  gift  he  sends  to  thee.” 

She  gazed  upon  tlie  Master’s  Iiead,  her  scorn  it  could  not  scare, 

And  cruel  were  the  words  she  said,  and  proud  her  glances  were : 

“ Thou  now  shaft  pay,  thou  traitor  base  ! the  debt  of  many  a year; 
My  dog  shall  lick  that  hauglity  face ; no  more  that  lip  shall  sneer.” 

She  seized  it  by  the  clotted  hair,  and  o’er  the  window  flung; 

The  mastiff  smelt  it  in  his  lair,  — forth  at  her  cry  he  sprung ; 

The  mastiff  tliat  had  crouched  so  low  to  lick  the  Master’s  hand, 

He  tossed  the  morsel  to  and  fro,  and  licked  it  on  the  sand. 

And  ever  as  the  mastiff  tore,  his  bloody  teeth  were  sho^vn  ; 

With  growl  and  snort  he  made  his  sport,  and  picked  it  to  the  bone ; 
The  baying  of  the  beast  was  loud,  and  swiftly  on  the  street 
There  gathered  round  a gaping  crowd  to  see  the  mastiff  eat. 

Then  out  and  spake  King  Pedro  : “ What  governance  is  this '! 

The  rabble  rout,  iny  gate  without,  torment  my  dogs,  I wiss.” 


THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE. 


79 


Then  out  and  spake  King  Pedro’s  page  : “ It  is  the  Master’s  head ; 
The  mastiff  tears  it  in  his  rage,  — therewith  they  have  him  fed.” 

Then  out  and  spake  the  ancient  nurse,  that  nursed  the  brothers  twain : 
“ On  tliee.  King  Pedro,  lies  the  curse,  — thy  brother  thou  hast  slain ; 
A thousand  harlots  there  may  be  within  the  realm  of  Spain, 

But  where  is  she  can  give  to  thee  thy  brother  back  again  1 ” 

Came  darkness  o’er  King  Pedro’s  brow,  when  thus  he  heard  her  say ; 
He  sorely  rued  the  accursed  vow  he  had  fulfilled  that  day  ; 

He  passed  unto  his  paramour,  where  on  her  couch  she  lay. 

Leaning  from  out  her  painted  bower  to  see  the  mastiff’s  play. 

He  drew  her  to  a dungeon  dark,  a dungeon  strong  and  deep  : 

“ My  father’s  son  lies  stiff  and  stark,  and  there  are  few  to  weep. 
Padrique’s  blood  for  vengeance  calls,  — his  cry  is  in  mine  ear, — 
Thou  art  the  cause,  thou  harlot  false  ! — in  darkness  lie  thou  here.” 


THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE. 


[That  Pedro  was  accessory  to  the  violent  death  of  this  young  and  innocent 
princess,  whom  he  had  married,  and  immediately  afterwards  deserted  for  ever, 
there  can  be  no  doubt.  This  deed  was  avenged  abundantly;  for  it  certainly 
led,  in  the  issue,  to  the  downfall  and  death  of  Pedro.  Mariana  says,  very 
briefly,  that  the  injuries  sustained  by  Queen  Blanche  had  so  much  offended 
many  of  Pedro’s  own  nobility,  that  they  drew  up  a formal  remonstrance,  and 
presented  it  to  him  in  a style  sufficiently  formidable ; and  that  he,  his  proud 


80 


THE  DEATH  OF  QUEEN  BLANCHE. 


and  fierce  temper  being  stung  to  madness  by  what  he  considered  an  unjustifi- 
able interference  with  his  domestic  concerns,  immediately  gave  orders  for  the 
poisoning  of  Blanche  in  her  prison.  In  the  old  French  Memoirs  of  Du  Guesclin 
a much  more  improbable  story  is  told  at  great  length.  The  Queen  Blanche,  ac- 
cording to  this  account,  had  been  banished  to  the  Castle  of  Medina  Sidonia,  — 
the  adjoining  territory  being  assigned  to  her  for  her  maintenance.  One  of  her 
vassals,  a Jew,  presumed  to  do  his  homage  in  the  usual  fashion,  that  is,  by 
kissing  Blanche  on  the  cheek,  ere  his  true  character  was  suspected  either  by 
her  or  her  attendants.  No  sooner  was  the  man  known  to  be  a Jew,  than  he 
was  driven  from  the  presence  of  the  Queen  with  every  mark  of  insult;  and  this 
sunk  so  deeply  into  his  mind,  that  he  determmed  to  revenge  himself,  if  possible, 
by  the  death  of  Blanche.  He  told  his  story  to  Maria  de  Padilla,  who  prevailed 
on  the  King  to  suffer  him  to  take  his  own  measures ; and  he  accordingly  sur- 
prised the  castle  by  night,  at  the  head  of  a troop  of  his  own  countrymen,  and 
butchered  the  unhappy  lady.  The  ballad  itself  is,  in  all  likelihood,  as  trust- 
worthy as  any  other  authority ; the  true  particulars  of  such  a crime  were  pretty 
sure  to  be  kept  concealed.] 


“ Maria  de  Padilla,  be  not  thus  of  dismal  mood, 

For  if  I twice  have  wedded  me,  it  all  was  for  thy  good  ; 

But  if  upon  Queen  Blanche  ye  will  that  I some  scorn  should  show, 
For  a banner  to  Medina  my  messenger  shall  go,  — 

The  work  shall  be  of  Blanche’s  tears,  of  Blanche’s  blood  the  ground  ; 
Such  pennon  shall  they  weave  for  thee,  such  sacrifice  be  found.” 

Then  to  the  Lord  of  Ortis,  that  excellent  baron. 

He  said,  “Now  hear  me,  Ynigo,  forthwith  for  this  begone.” 

Then  answer  made  Don  Ynigo,  “ Such  gift  I ne’er  will  bring. 

For  he  that  harmeth  Lady  Blanche  doth  harm  my  lord  the  King.” 

Then  Pedro  to  his  chamber  went,  — his  cheek  was  burning  red,  — 
And  to  a bowman  of  Ins  guard  the  dark  command  he  said. 

The  bowman  to  Medina  passed  ; when  the  Queen  beheld  him  near, 

“ Alas  ! ” she  said,  “ my  maidens,  he  brings  my  death,  I fear.” 


THE  DEATH  OF  DOH  PEDRO. 


SI 


Then  said  the  archer,  bending  low : “ The  Icing’s  commandment  take, 
And  see  thy  soul  be  ordered  well  with  God  that  did  it  make ; 

For  lo  ! thine  hour  is  come,  tlierefrom  no  refuge  may  there  be.” 

Then  gently  spake  the  Lady  Blanche  : “ My  friend,  I pardon  thee  ; 

Do  what  thou  wilt,  so  be  the  King  hath  his  commandment  given : 

Deny  me  not  confession,  — if  so,  forgive  ye.  Heaven  ! ” 

Much  grieved  the  bomnan  for  her  tears,  and  for  her  beauty’s  sake. 

While  thus  Queen  Blanche  of  Bourbon  her  last  complaint  did  make  : — 

“ 0 France  ! my  noble  countrj",  — 0 blood  of  high  Bourbon  ! 

Hot  eighteen  years  have  I seen  out  before  my  life  is  gone. 

The  King  hath  never  known  me.  A virgin  tnie  I die. 

Whate’er  I ’ve  done,  to  proud  Castile  no  treason  e’er  did  I. 

“ The  crown  they  put  upon  my  head  was  a crown  of  blood  and  sighs, 

God  grant  me  soon  another  crown  more  precious  in  the  skies  1 ” 

These  words  she  spake,  then  down  she  knelt,  and  took  the  bowman’s  blow ; 
Her  tender  neck  was  cut  in  Dvain,  and  out  her  blood  did  flow. 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO. 


[The  reader  may  remember  that  when  Don  Pedro  had,  by  his  excessive 
cruelties,  quite  alienated  from  himself  the  hearts  of  the  great  majority  of  his 
people,  Don  Henry  of  Trastamara,  his  natural  brother,  who  had  spent  many 
years  in  exile,  returned  suddenly  into  Spain  with  a formidable  band  of  French 
auxiliaries,  by  whose  aid  he  drove  Pedro  out  of  his  kingdom.  Tne  voice  of  the 
nation  was  on  Henry’s  side,  and  he  took  possession  of  the  throne  without  fur- 
6 


82 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO. 


ther  opposition.  Pedro,  after  his  treatment  of  Queen  Blanche,  could  have 
nothing  to  hope  from  the  crown  of  France,  so  he  immediately  threw  himself 
into  the  arms  of  England.  And  Edward  the  Black  Prince,  who  then  com- 
manded in  Gascony,  had  more  than  one  obvious  reason  for  taking  up  his 
cause. 

The  Prince  of  Wales  marched  with  Don  Pedro  into  Spain,  at  the  head  of  an 
army  of  English  and  Gascon  veterans,  whose  disciplined  valor,  Mariana  very 
frankly  confesses,  gave  them  a decided  superiority  over  the  Spanish  soldiery  of 
the  time.  Hemy  was  so  unwise  as  to  set  his  stake  upon  a battle,  and  was 
totally  defeated  in  the  field  of  Najara.  Unable  to  rally  his  flying  troops,  he 
was  compelled  to  make  his  escape  beyond  the  Pyrenees ; and  Don  Pedro  once 
more  established  himself  in  his  kingdom.  The  battle  of  Najara  took  place  in 
1366.  But.  in  1368,  when  the  Black  Prince  had  retired  again  into  Gascony, 
Henry,  in  his  turn,  came  back  from  exile  with  a small  but  gallant  army,  most 
of  whom  were  French,  commanded  by  the  celebrated  Bertram  Du  Gleasqum, 
— or,  as  he  is  more  commonly  called,  Du  Guesclin,  — and  animated,  as  was 
natural,  by  strong  thirst  of  vengeance  for  the  insults  which,  in  the  person  of 
Blanche,  Pedro  had  heaped  upon  the  royal  line  of  their  country  and  the  blood 
of  Saint  Louis.  Henry  advanced  into  the  heart  of  La  Mancha,  and  there 
encountered  Don  Pedro,  at  the  head  of  an  army  six  times  more  numerous  than 
that  which  he  commanded,  but  composed  in  a great  measure  of  Jews,  Saracens, 
and  Portuguese,  — miscellaneous  auxiliaries,  who  gave  way  before  the  ardor 
of  the  French  chivalry, — so  that  Henry  remained  victorious,  and  Pedro  was 
forced  to  take  refuge  in  the  neighboring  castle  of  Montiel.  That  fortress  was  so 
strictlj'-  blockaded  by  the  successful  enemy,  that  the  King  was  compelled  to 
attempt  his  escape  by  night,  with  only  twelve  in  his  retinue,  — Ferdinand  de 
Castro  being  the  person  of  most  note  among  them.  As  they  wandered  in  the 
dark,  they  were  encountered  by  a body  of  French  cavalry  making  the  rounds, 
commanded  by  an  adventurous  knight  called  Le  B ’gue  cle  Villaines.  Com- 
pelled to  surrender,  Don  Pedro  put  himself  under  the  safeguard  of  this  officer, 
promising  him  a rich  ransom  if  he  would  conceal  him  from  the  knowledge  of 
his  brother  Henry.  The  knight,  according  to  Froissart,  promised  him  conceal- 
ment, and  conveyed  him  to  his  own  quarters.  But  in  the  course  of  an  hour 
Henry  was  apprised  that  he  was  taken,  and  came  with  some  of  his  followers 
to  the  tent  of  Allan  de  la  Houssaye,  where  his  unfortunate  brother  had  been 
placed.  On  entering  it  he  exclaimed,  “ Where  is  that  whoreson  and  Jew  who 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO. 


83 


calls  himself  King  of  Castile?  ” Pedro,  as  proud  and  fearless  as  he  ivas  cruel, 
stepped  instantly  forward,  and  replied,  “ Here  I stand,  the  lawful  son  and  heir  of 
Don  Alphouso,  and  it  is  thou  that  art  but  a false  bastard.”  The  rival  brethren 
instantly  grappled  like  lions,  the  French  knights  and  Du  Guesclin  himself  look- 
ing on.  Henry  drew  his  poniard,  and  wounded  Pedro  in  the  face,  but  his  body 
was  defended  by  a coat  of  mail.  A violent  struggle  ensued:  Henry  fell 
across  a bench,  and  his  brother,  being  uppermost,  had  well-nigh  mastered 
him,  when  one  of  Henry’s  followers,  seizing  Don  Pedro  by  the  leg,  turned  him 
over,  and  his  master,  thus  at  length  gaining  the  upper  hand,  instantly  stabbed 
the  King  to  the  heart.  Froissart  calls  this  man  the  Vicomte  de  Roquebetyn, 
and  others  the  Bastard  of  Aiiisse.  Jlenard,  in  his  history  of  Du  Guesclin,  says, 
that  while  all  around  gazed  like  statues  on  the  furious  struggle  of  the  brothers, 
Du  Guesclin  exclaimed  to  this  attendant  of  Henry,  ‘‘  What!  will  you  stand  by 
and  see  your  master  placed  at  such  a pass  by  a false  renegade  ? — Make  for- 
ward and  aid  him,  for  well  you  may.” 

Pedro’s  head  was  cut  off,  and  his  remains  were  meanly  buried.  They  were 
afterwards  disinterred  by  his  daughter,  the  wife  of  our  own  John  of  Gaunt, 
“ time-honored  Lancaster,”  and  deposited  in  Seville,  with  the  honors  due  to  his 
rank.  His  memory  was  regarded  with  a strange  mixture  of  horror  and  com- 
passion, which  recommended  him  as  a subject  for  legend  and  for  romance.  He 
had  caused  his  innocent  wife  to  be  assassinated,  — had  murdered  three  of  his 
brothers, — and  committed  numberless  cruelties  upon  his  subjects.  He  had, 
which  the  age  deemed  equally  scandalous,  held  a close  intimacy  with  the  Jews 
and  Saracens,  and  had  enriched  himself  at  the  expense  of  the  Church.  Yet,  in 
spite  of  all  these  crimes,  his  undaunted  bravery  and  energy  of  character, 
together  mth  the  strange  circumstances  of  his  death,  excited  milder  feelings 
towards  his  memory. 

The  following  ballad,  which  describes  the  death  of  Don  Pedro,  wus  translated 
by  a friend  (Sir  Walter  Scott).  It  is  quoted  more  than  once  by  Cervantes  in 
Don  Quixote.] 


Henry  and  Enng  Pedro  clasping, 

Hold  in  straining  arms  each  other ; 
Tugging  hard  and  closely  grasping, 
Brother  proves  his  strength  with  brother. 


84 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  PEDRO. 


Harmless  pastime,  sport  fraternal, 
Blends  not  thus  their  limbs  in  strife 

Either  aims,  with  rage  infernal. 
Naked  dagger,  sharpened  knife. 

Close  Don  Henry  grapples  Pedro, 
Pedro  holds  Don  Henry  strait. 

Breathing,  this,  triumphant  fuiy. 
That,  despair  and  mortal  hate. 

Sole  spectator  of  the  struggle, 

Stands  Don  Henry’s  page  afar. 

In  the  chase  who  Kore  his  bugle. 

And  who  bore  his  sword  in  war. 

Down  they  go  in  deadly  wrestle, 
Down  upon  the  earth  they  go ; 

Pierce  IHng  Pedro  has  the  vantage. 
Stout  Don  Henry  falls  below. 

Marking  then  the  fetal  crisis. 

Up  the  page  of  Henry  ran. 

By  the  waist  he  caught  Don  Pedro, 
Aiding  thus  the  fallen  man  : — 

“ King  to  place,  or  to  depose  him, 
Dwelleth  not  in  my  desire. 

But  the  duty  which  he  owes  him 
To  his  master  pays  the  squire.” 

Now  Don  Henry  has  the  upmost. 
Now  King  Pedro  lies  beneath  : 

In  his  heart  his  brother’s  poniard 
Instant  finds  its  bloody  sheath. 


THE  PROCLAMATIOX  OF  KIXG  HEXET. 


85 


Thus  with  mortal  gasp  and  quiver, 
While  the  blood  in  bubbles  welled, 
Fled  the  fiercest  soul  that  ever 
In  a Christian  bosom  dwelled. 


THE  PR0CLAilATI02^  OF  KCNG  HENRY. 


[The  following  ballad,  taking  up  the  story  where  it  is  left  in  the  preceding 
one,  gives  ns  the  proclamation  and  coronation  of  Don  Henry,  sumamed,  from 
the  courtesy  of  his  manners,  El  Cavallero,  and  the  grief  of  Pedro’s  lovely  and 
unhappy  mistress,  Maria  de  Padilla.  From  its  structure  and  versification,  I 
have  no  doubt  it  is  of  much  more  modem  origin  than  most  of  those  in  the  first 
Cancionero. 

The  picture  which  Mariana  gives  us  of  Don  Pedro,  the  hero  of  so  many 
atrocious  and  tragical  stories,  is  very  striking.  “ He  was  pale  of  complexion,” 
says  the  historian  (Book  X\T.  Chap.  10),  “ his  features  were  high  and  well 
formed,  and  stamped  with  a certain  authority  of  majesty,  his  hair  red,  his  figure 
erect,  even  to  stiffness ; he  was  bold  and  determined  in  action  and  in  council ; 
his  bodily  frame  sank  under  no  fatigues,  his  spirit  under  no  weight  of  difficulty 
or  of  danger.  He  was  passionately  fond  of  hawking  and  all  violent  exercises. 
In  the  beginning  of  his  reign,  he  administered  justice  among  private  individuals 
with  perfect  integrity.  But  even  then  were  visible  in  him  the  radiments  of 
those  vices  which  grew  with  his  age,  and  finally  led  him  to  his  ruin ; such  as  a 
general  contempt  and  scorn  of  mankind,  an  insulting  tongue,  a proud  and  diffi- 
cult ear,  even  to  those  of  his  household.  These  faults  were  discernible  even 
in  his  tender  years ; to  them,  as  he  advanced  in  life,  were  added  avarice,  dis- 
solution in  luxury,  an  utter  hardness  of  heart,  and  a remorseless  craelty.”] 


86 


THE  PROCLAMATION  OF  KING  HENRY. 


At  the  feet  of  Don  Henrique  now  Iving  Pedro  dead  is  lying, 

Not  that  Henry’s  might  was  greater,  but  that  blood  to  Heaven  was  crying 
Though  deep  the  dagger  had  its  sheath  within  his  brother’s  breast, 

Pinn  on  the  frozen  throat  beneath  Don  Henry’s  foot  is  pressed. 

So  dark  and  sullen  is  the  glare  of  Pedro’s  lifeless  eyes. 

Still  half  he  fears  what  slumbers  there  to  vengeance  may  arise. 

So  stands  the  brother,  — on  his  brow  the  mark  of  blood  is  seen. 

Yet  had  he  not  been  Pedro’s  Cain,  his  Cain  had  Pedro  been. 

Close  round  the  scene  of  cursed  strife,  the  armed  knights  appear 
Of  either  band,  with  silent  thoughts  of  joyfulness  or  fear ; 

All  for  a space  in  silence  the  fratricide  survey, — 

Then  sudden  bursts  the  mingling  voice  of  triumph  and  dismay. 

Glad  shout  on  shout  from  Henry’s  host  ascends  unto  the  sky  : 

“ God  save  King  Henry,  — save  the  King,  — King  Henry  1 ” is  their  cry. 
But  Pedro’s  barons  clasp  their  brows,  — in  sadness  stand  they  near ; 
Wliate’er  to  others  he  had  been,  their  friend  lies  murdered  here. 

The  deed,  say  those,  was  justly  done,  — a tyrant’s  soul  is  sped  ; 

These  ban  and  curse  the  traitorous  blow  by  which  a king  is  dead. 

Now  see,”  cries  one,  “ how  Heaven’s  amand  asserts  the  people’s  rights  ! ’ 
Another,  — “ God  will  judge  the  hand  that  God’s  anointed  smites  ! ” 

The  Lord’s  vicegerent,”  quoth  a priest,  “ is  sovereign  of  the  land. 

And  he  rebels  ’gainst  Heaven’s  behest,  that  slights  his  king’s  coirimand  1 ” 
“ Now  Heaven  be  witness,  if  he  sinned,”  thus  speaks  a gallant  young, 

“ The  fault  was  in  Padilla’s  eye,  that  o’er  him  magic  flung  ; — 

“ Or  if  no  magic  be  her  blame,  so  heavenly  fair  is  she. 

The  wisest,  for  so  bright  a daitie,  might  well  a sinner  be  ! 

Let  none  speak  ill  of  Pedro,  — no  Roderick  hath  he  been,  — 

He  dearly  loved  fair  Spain,  although ’t  is  true  he  slew  the  Queen.” 


THE  PROCLAMATIOX  OF  KING  HENRY. 


The  words  he  spake  they  all  might  hear,  yet  none  vouchsafe  reply,  — 

“ God  save  great  Henry,  — save  the  King,  — King  Henry  ! ” is  the  cry  ; 
While  Pedro’s  liegemen  turn  aside,  their  groans  are  in  your  ear,  — 

“ Whate’er  to  others  he  hath  been,  our  friend  lies  slaughtered  here  ! ” 

Kor  paltry  souls  are  wanting  among  King  Pedro’s  band. 

That,  now  their  king  is  dead,  draw  near  to  kiss  his  murderer’s  hand ; 
The  false  cheek  clothes  it  in  a smile,  and  laughs  the  hollow  eye. 

And  wags  the  traitor  tongue  the  wliile  with  flattery’s  ready  lie. 

The  valor  of  the  King  that  is,  — the  justice  of  his  cause,  — 

The  blindness  and  the  tyi-annies  of  him,  the  King  that  teas,  — 

All,  — all  are  doubled  in  their  speech,  yet  tnith  enough  is  there 
To  sink  the  shivering  spirit  near,  in  darkness  of  despair. 

The  murder  of  the  Master,  the  tender  Infants’  doom. 

And  blessed  Blanche’s  thread  of  life  snapped  short  in  dungeon’s  gloom. 
With  tragedies  yet  unrevealed,  that  stained  the  King’s  abode. 

By  lips  his  bounty  should  have  sealed  are  blazoned  black  abroad. 

Whom  served  he  most  at  others’  cost,  most  loud  they  rend  the  sky,  — 

“ God  save  great  Henry,  — save  our  King,  — King  Henry  1 ” is  the  cry 

But  still,  amid  too  many  foes,  the  grief  is  in  your  ear 

Of  dead  King  Pedro’s  faithful  few,  — “ Alas  ! our  lord  lies  here  ! ” 

But  others’  tears,  and  others’  groans,  what  are  they  matched  with  thine, 
Maria  de  Padilla,  — thou  fatal  concubine  ! 

Because  she  is  King  Henry’s  slave,  the  lady  weepeth  sore. 

Because  she ’s  Pedro’s  widowed  love,  alas  ! she  weepeth  more. 

“ 0 Pedro  ! Pedro  ! ” hear  her  cry,  — “ how  often  did  I say 
That  wicked  counsel  and  weak  trust  would  haste  thy  life  away  ! ” 

She  stands  upon  her  turret-top,  she  looks  down  from  on  high. 

Where  mantled  in  his  bloody  cloak  site  sees  her  lover  lie. 


88 


THE  PEOCLAMATIOX  OF  KING  HENRY. 


Low  lies  King  Pedro  in  liis  blood,  while  bending  down  ye  see 
Caitiffs  that  trembled  ere  he  spake,  crouched  at  his  murderer’s  knee ; 

They  place  the  sceptre  in  his  hand,  and  on  his  head  the  crown, 

And  tmmpets  clear  are  blown,  and  bells  are  meny  through  the  town. 

The  sun  shines  bright,  and  the  gay  rout  with  clamors  rend  the  sky, 

“ God  save  great  Heniy,  — save  the  King,  — Kang  Henry  ! ” is  the  cry ; 
But  the  pale  lady  weeps  above,  with  many  a bitter  tear  : 

Whate’er  he  was,  he  was  her  love,  and  he  lies  slaughtered  here  ! 

At  first,  in  silence  down  her  cheek  the  drops  of  sadness  roll. 

But  rage  and  anger  come  to  break  the  soitow  of  her  soul ; 

The  triumph  of  her  haters,  the  gladness  of  their  cries. 

Enkindle  flames  of  ire  and  scorn  within  her  tearful  eyes. 

In  her  hot  cheek  the  blood  mounts  high,  as  she  stands  gazing  down. 

Now  on  proud  Henry’s  royal  state,  his  robe  and  golden  crewn,  — 

And  now  upon  the  trampled  cloak  that  hides  not  from  her  view 
The  slaughtered  Pedro’s  marble  brow  and  lips  of  livid  hue. 

With  furious  grief  she  twists  her  hands  among  her  long  black  hairs. 

And  all  from  off  her  lovely  brow  the  blameless  locks  she  tears  ; 

She  tears  the  ringlets  from  her  front,  and  scatters  all  the  pearls 
King  Pedro’s  hand  had  planted  among  the  raven  curls  : 

“ Stop,  caitiff  tongues  ! ” — they  hear  her  not,  — “ King  Pedro’s  love  am  I ! ” 
They  heed  her  not ; — “ God  save  the  King,  — great  Henry ! ” still  the}'  cry. 
She  rends  her  ham,  she  •\viings  her  hands,  but  none  to  help  is  near : 

“ God  look  in  vengeance  on  their  deed,  my  lord  lies  murdered  here  ! ” 

Away  she  flings  her  garments,  her  broidered  veil  and  vest. 

As  if  they  should  behold  her  love  within  lier  lovely  breast. 

As  if  to  call  upon  her  foes  the  constant  heart  to  see. 

Where  Pedro’s  form  is  still  enshrined,  and  evermore  shall  be. 


THE  LORD  OF  BUTRAGO. 


89 


But  none  on  fair  ilaria  looks,  by  none  her  breast  is  seen,  — 

Save  angry  Heaven  remembering  well  the  murder  of  the  Queen, 

The  wounds  of  jealous  harlot  rage,  which  virgin  blood  must  stanch. 
And  all  the  scorn  that  mingled  in  the  bitter  cup  of  Blanche. 

The  utter  coldness  of  neglect  that  haughty  spirit  stings. 

As  if  a thousand  fiends  were  there,  with  all  then-  flapping  wings  ; 

She  wraps  the  veil  about  her  head,  as  if ’t  were  aU  a dream,  — 

The  love,  the  murder,  and  the  wrath,  — and  that  rebellious  scream. 

For  still  there ’s  shouting  on  the  plain,  and  spurring  far  and  nigh, — 
“ God  save  the  King,  — Amen  ! amen  ! — King  Henry  ! ” is  the  cry ; 
While  Pedro  all  alone  is  left  upon  his  bloody  bier,  — 

Not  one  remains  to  cry  to  God,  “ Our  lord  lies  murdered  here  ! ” 


THE  LORD  OF  BUTRAGO. 


[The  incident  to  which  the  following  ballad  relates  is  supposed  to  have  oc- 
curred on  the  famous  field  of  Aljubarrota,  where  King  Juan  the  First  of  Castile 
was  defeated  by  the  Portuguese.  The  King,  who  w'as  at  that  time  in  a feeble 
state  of  health,  exposed  himself  very  much  during  the  action;  and  being 
wounded,  had  great  difficulty  in  making  his  escape.  The  battle  was  fought 
A.  D.  1385.] 


“Tour  horse  is  faint,  my  King,  my  Lord ! your  gallant  horse  is  sick, — 
His  limbs  are  torn,  his  breast  is  gored,  on  his  eye  the  film  is  thick  ; 
Mount,  mount  on  mine,  0,  mount  apace,  I pray  thee,  mount  and  fly  1 
Or  in  my  arms  I ’ll  lift  your  grace,  — their  trampling  hoofs  are  nigh  ! 


90 


THE  LORD  OF  BUTRAGO. 


“ My  King ! iny  King ! you  ’re  wounded  sore,  — the  blood  runs  from  your 
feet ; 

But  only  luy  a hand  before,  and  I ’ll  lift  you  to  your  seat: 

Mount,  Juan,  for  they  gather  fast ! — I hear  their  coming  cry,  — 

Mount,  mount,  and  ride  for  jeopardy,  — I ’ll  save  you  though  I die! 

“ Stand,  noble  steed  ! this  hour  of  need,  — be  gentle  as  a lamb  ; 

I ’ll  kiss  the  foam  from  off  thy  mouth,  — thy  master  dear  I am. 

Mount,  Juan,  mount!  whate’er  betide,  away  the  bridle  fling. 

And  plunge  the  rowels  in  his  side.  My  horse  shall  save  my  liing ! 

“ Nay,  never  speak  ; my  sires.  Lord  King,  received  their  land  from  yours. 
And  joyfully  their  blood  shall  spring,  so  be  it  thine  secures  : 

If  I should  fly,  and  thou,  my  King,  be  fouud  among  the  dead. 

How  could  I stand  ’mong  gentlemen,  such  scorn  on  my  gray  head  ? 

“ Castile’s  proud  dames  shall  never  point  the  finger  of  disdain. 

And  say  there ’s  one  that  ran  away  when  our  good  lords  were  slain  ! — 

I leave  Diego  in  your  care,  — you  ’ll  fill  his  father’s  place  : 

Strike,  strike  the  spur,  and  never  spare  1 — God’s  blessing  on  your  grace ! ” 

So  spake  the  brave  Montanez,  Butrago’s  lord  was  he  ; 

And  turned  him  to  the  coming  host  in  steadfastness  and  glee ; 

He  flung  himself  among  them,  as  they  came  down  the  hill, — 

He  died,  God  wot ! but  not  before  his  sword  had  drunk  its  fill. 


THE  KING  OF  ARAGON. 


91 


THE  KING  OF  ARAGON. 


[The  following  little  ballad  represents  the  supposed  feelings  of  Ferdinand, 
King  of  Aragon,  on  surveying  Naples,  after  he  had  at  last  obtained  possession 
of  that  city,  and  driven  Ren^  of  Anjou  from  the  south  of  Italy.  “ The  King  of 
Atagon.”  savs  Slariana,  “ entered  Naples  as  victor,  on  the  morning  of  Sunday, 
the  2d  of  June,  in  the  year  of  our  Lord  1442.”  The  brother  whose  death  is 
represented  as  saddening  the  King’s  triumph,  was  Don  Pedro  of  Aragon,  who 
■was  killed  “ by  the  fourth  rebound  of  a cannon-ball,”  very  soon  after  the  com- 
mencement of  the  siege  of  Naples.  “ When  the  King  heard  of  these  woful  ti- 
dings,” says  JIariana,  “ he  hastened  to  the  place  where  the  body  had  been  laid, 
and,  kissing  the  breast  of  the  dead  man,  said,  ‘ Alas,  my  brother,  what  different 
things  had  I expected  of  thee ! God  help  thy  soul ! ’ And  with  that  he  wept 
and  groaned,  and  then  turning  to  his  attendants,  ‘ Alas  1 ’ said  he,  ‘ my  com- 
rades, "we  have  lost  this  day  the  flower  of  all  our  chivalry ! ’ Don  Pedro  died 
in  the  bloom  of  his  youth,  being  just  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  having  never 
been  married.  He  had  been  in  many  wars,  and  in  all  of  them  he  had  won  hon- 
or.” (Mariana,  Book  XXL  Chap.  13.)  Who  was  the  favorite  boy  (Pagezico) 
■whose  death  the  King  also  laments  in  the  ballad,  I have  not  been  able  to  find.J 


One  day  the  King  of  Aragon,  from  the  old  citadel. 

Looked  down  upon  the  sea  of  Spain,  as  the  billows  rose  and  fell ; 

He  looked  on  ship  and  galley,  some  coming  and  some  going. 

With  aU  their  prize  of  merchandise,  and  all  their  sti'eamers  flowing,  — 

Some  to  Castile  were  sailing,  and  some  to  Barbary  : — 

And  then  he  looked  on  Naples,  that  great  city  of  the  sea  : 

“ 0 city  ! ” saith  the  King,  “ how  great  hath  been  thy  cost ! 

For  thee,  I twenty  years  — my  fairest  years  — have  lost.  . 


92 


THE  VOW  OF  REDUAN. 


“ By  thee  I have  lost  a brother,  — never  Hector  was  more  brave,  — 
High  cavaliers  liave  dropped  their  tears  upon  my  brother’s  grave. 
Much  treasure  hast  thou  cost  me,  and  a little  boy  beside,  — 

(Alas  ! thou  woful  city  !)  — for  whom  I would  have  died.” 


THE  VOW  OF  KEDUAN. 


[The  marriage  of  Ferdinand  the  Catholic  and  Doha  Isabella  having  united 
the  forces  of  Aragon  and  Castile,  the  total  ruin  of  the  Moorish  power  in  Spain 
could  no  longer  be  deferred.  The  last  considerable  fragment  of  their  once 
mighty  possessions  in  the  Peninsula  was  Granada;  but  the  fate  of  Malaga  gave 
warning  of  its  inevitable  fall,  while  internal  dissensions,  and  the  weakness  of 
the  reigning  prince,  hastened  and  facilitated  that  great  object  of  Ferdinand’s 
ambition. 

The  following  is  a version  of  certain  parts  of  two  ballads;  indeed,  the  Moor 
Eeduan  is  the  hero  of  a great  many  more.  The  subject  is,  as  the  reader  will 
perceive,  the  rash  vow  and  tragical  end  of  a young  and  gallant  soldier,  allied, 
as  it  would  appear,  to  the  blood  of  the  last  Moorish  King  of  Granada,  Boabdil, 
— or,  as  he  is  more  generally  called  by  the  Spanish  writers,  El  Re.y  Ckiquit(\ 
i.  e.  the  Little  King.] 


Thus  said,  before  his  lords,  the  King  to  Eeduan  : 

“ ’T  is  easy  to  get  words,  — deeds  get  we  as  we  can  : 
Kememberest  thou  the  feast  at  which  I heard  thee  saying, 
’T  were  easy  in  one  night  to  make  me  Lord  of  Jaen  ? 

“ Well  in  my  mind  I hold  the  v.aliant  vow  was  said  ; 
Fulfil  it,  boy  ! and  gold  shall  shower  upon  thy  head ; 

But  bid  a long  farewell,  if  now  thou  rhrink  from  doing. 
To  bower  and  bonnibell,  thy  feasting  and  thy  wooing  1 ” 


THE  VOW  OF  REDUAV. 


93 


“ I have  forgot  the  oath,  if  such  I e’er  did  plight,  — 

But  needs  there  plighted  troth  to  make  a soldier  fight  1 
A thousand  sabres  bring,  — we  ’ll  see  how  we  may  thrive.” 

“ One  thousand ! ” quoth  the  King ; “ I trow  tliou  shall  have  five  1 ” 

They  passed  the  Elvira  gate,  with  banners  all  displayed. 

They  passed  in  mickle  state,  a noble  cavalcade  ; 

What  proud  and  pawing  horses,  what  comely  cavaliers, 

What  bravery  of  targets,  what  glittering  of  spears  1 

What  caftans  blue  and  scarlet,  — what  turbans  pleached  of  green  ; 
What  waving  of  their  crescents  and  plumages  between  ; 

What  buskins  and  what  stin'ups,  — what  rowels  chased  in  gold  ! 
What  handsome  gentlemen,  — what  buoyant  hearts  and  bold  1 

In  midst,  above  them  all,  rides  he  who  rules  the  band,  — 

Ton  feather  white  and  tall  is  the  token  of  command  : 

He  looks  to  the  Alhambra,  whence  bends  his  mother  down,  — 

“ Now  Alla  save  my  boy,  and  merciful  Mahoun  1 ” 

But ’t  was  another  sight,  when  Reduan  drew  near 
To  look  upon  the  height  where  jaen’s  towers  appear ; 

The  fosse  was  'wide  and  deep,  the  walls  both  tall  and  strong. 

And  keep  was  matched  with  keep  the  battlements  along. 

It  was  a heavy  sight,  — but  most  for  Reduan  : 

He  sighed,  as  well  he  might,  ere  thus  his  speech  began  : 

“ 0 Jaen  ! had  I known  how  high  thy  bulwarks  stand, 

My  tongue  had  not  outgone  the  prowess  of  my  hand. 

“ But  since,  in  hasty  cheer,  I did  my  promise  plight 
(What  well  might  cost  a year)  to  win  thee  in  a night. 

The  pledge  demands  the  paying.  I would  my  soldiers  brave 
Were  half  as  sure  of  Jaen  as  I am  of  my  grave  ! 


94 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  GRANADA. 


“ My  penitence  comes  late,  — my  death  lags  not  behind  ; 

1 yield  me  up  to  fate,  since  hope  I may  not  find ! ” 

With  that  he  turned  him  round  : “ Now  blow  your  trumpets  high  1 ” — • 
But  every  spearman  frowned,  and  dark  was  every  eye. 

But  when  he  was  aware  that  they  would  fain  retreat, 

He  spurred  his  bright  bay  mare,  — I wot  her  pace  was  fleet ; 

He  rides  beneath  the  walls,  and  shakes  aloof  his  lanee, 

And  to  the  Christians  calls,  if  any  will  advanee  ? 

With  that  an  arrow  flew  from  o’er  the  battlement,  — 

Young  Keduan  it  slew,  sheer  through  the  breast  it  went ; 

He  fell  upon  the  green  : “ Farewell,  my  gallant  bay ! ” 

Bight  soon,  when  this  was  seen,  broke  all  the  Moor  array. 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  GRANADA. 


[The  following  Ballad  describes  the  final  departure  of  the  weak  and  unfortu- 
nate Boabdil  from  Granada.  In  point  of  fact,  the  Moorish  King  came  out  and 
received  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  in  great  form  and  pomp,  at  the  gates  of  his  lost 
city,  presenting  them  with  the  keys  on  a cushion,  and  in  abject  terms  entreat- 
ing their  protection  for  his  person. 

The  valle}'  of  Purchena,  in  Murcia,  was  assigned  to  him  for  his  place  of  resi- 
dence, and  a handsome  revenue  provided  for  the  maintenance  of  him  and  his 
family;  but  after  a little  while,  “not  having  resolution  ” (as  Mariana  expresses 
it)  “ to  endure  a private  life  in  the  country  where  he  had  so  long  reigned  a 
king,”  he  went  over  to  Barbaiy. 

The  entrance  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  into  Granada  took  place  on  Friday, 
the  6th  of  January,  1492.] 


THE  FLIGHT  FROM  GRANADA. 


95 


There  was  crying  in  Granada  when  tlie  sun  was  going  down  ; 

Some  calling  on  the  Trinity,  some  calling  on  Mahouu. 

Here  passed  away  the  Koran,  there  in  the  Cross  was  borne,  — 

And  here  was  heard  the  Christian  bell,  and  there  the  Moorish  hom  ; 

Te  Deum  Laudamns!  was  up  the  Alcala  sung  ; 

Domi  from  the  Alhambra’s  minarets  were  all  the  crescents  flung  ; 

The  arms  thereon  of  Aragon  they  with  Castile’s  display ; 

One  King  comes  in  in  triumph,  — one  weeping  goes  awa}'. 

Thus  cried  the  weeper,  while  his  hands  his  old  white  beard  did  tear : 
“Farewell,  farewell,  Granada!  thou  city  without  peer! 

Woe,  woe,  thou  pride  of  Heathendom  ! seven  hundred  years  and  more 
Have  gone  since  first  the  faithful  thy  royal  sceptre  bore ! 

“ Thou  wert  the  happy  mother  of  a high  renowned  race  ; 

Within  thee  dwelt  a haughty  line,  that  now  go  from  their  place  ; 

Within  thee  fearless  knights  did  dwell,  who  fought  with  mickle  glee,  — 
The  enemies  of  proud  Castile,  — the  bane  of  Christentie  ! 

“ The  mother  of  fair  dames  wert  thou,  of  truth  and  beauty  rare. 

Into  whose  arms  did  courteous  knights  for  solace  sweet  repair ; 

For  whose  dear  sakes  the  gallants  of  Afric  made  display 
Of  might  in  joust  and  battle  on  many  a bloody  day. 

“ Here  gallants  held  it  little  thing  for  ladies’  sake  to  die. 

Or  for  the  Prophet’s  honor,  and  pride  of  Soldaiiry ; 

For  here  did  valor  flourish,  and  deeds  of  warlike  might 
Ennobled  lordly  palaces  in  which  was  our  delight. 

“ The  gardens  of  thy  Vega,  its  fields  and  blooming  bowers, — 

Woe,  woe  ! I see  their  beauty  gone,  and  scattered  all  their  flowers ! 

No  reverence  can  he  claim, — the  King  that  such  a land  hath  lost, — 
On  charger  never  can  he  ride,  nor  be  heard  among  tlic  host ; 

But  in  some  dark  and  dismal  place,  where  none  his  face  may  sec. 
There,  weeping  and  lamenting,  alone  tliat  King  should  be.” 


96 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 


Thus  spake  Granada’s  King  as  he  was  riding  to  the  sea. 

About  to  cross  Gibraltar’s  Strait  away  to  Barbary  : 

Thus  he  in  heaviness  of  soul  unto  his  Queen  did  cry,  — 

(He  had  stopped  and  ta’en  her  in  his  arms,  for  together  they  did  fly) : — 

“ Unhappy  King!  whose  craven  soul  can  brook”  (she  ’gan  reply) 

“ To  leave  behind  Granada,  — who  hast  not  heart  to  die  1 — 

Now  for  the  love  I bore  thy  youth,  thee  gladly  could  I slay,  — 

Por  what  is  life  to  leave  when  such  a crown  is  cast  away  ? ” 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 


[The  Catholic  zeal  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella  was  gratified  by  the  external 
conversion  at  least  of  a great  part  of  the  Moors  of  Granada;  but  the  inhabitants 
of  the  Sierra  of  Alpuxarra,  a ridge  of  mountainous  territory  at  no  great  dis- 
tance from  that  city,  resisted  every  argument  of  the  priests  who  were  sent 
among  them,  so  that  the  royal  order  for  Baptism  was  at  length  enforced  by 
arms.  The  mountaineers  held  out  for  a time  in  several  of  their  strong-holds; 
but  were  at  last  subdued,  and  nearly  extirpated.  Among  many  severe  losses 
sustained  by  the  Spanish  in  the  course  of  this  hill  warfare,  none  was  more 
grievous  than  that  recorded  in  the  following  ballad.  Don  Alonzo  of  Aguilar 
was  the  eldest  brother  of  that  Gonsalvo  Hernandez  y Cordova  of  Aguilar  who 
became  so  illustrious  as  to  acquire  the  name  of  the  Great  Captain.  This 
tragic  story  has  been  rendered  familiar  to  all  English  readers  by  the  Bishop  of 
Dromore’s  exquisite  vereion  of  “ Rio  Verde,  Rio  Verde  1 ”] 


Fernando,  King  of  Aragon,  before  Granada  lies. 

With  dukes  and  barons  many  a one,  and  champions  of  emprise ; 
With  all  the  captains  of  Castile  that  serve  his  lady’s  croum. 

He  drives  Boabdil  from  his  gates,  and  plucks  the  crescent  down. 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 


97 


The  cross  is  reared  upon  the  towers,  -for  oui’  Redeemer’s  sake  : 

The  King  assembles  all  his  powers,  his  ti'iumph  to  partake ; 

Yet  at  the  royal  banquet,  there ’s  trouble  in  his  eye  ; — 

“ Now  speak  thy  wish,  it  shall  be  done,  great  liing  ! ” the  lordlings  cry. 

Then  spake  Fernando  : — “ Hear,  grandees  ! which  of  ye  all  will  go, 

And  give  my  banner  in  the  breeze  of  Alpuxar  to  blow  1 

Those  heights  along,  the  Moors  are  sti-ong ; now  who,  by  dawn  of  day, 

Will  plant  the  cross  their  cliffs  among,  and  drive  the  dogs  away  1 ” 

Then  champion  on  champion  high,  and  count  on  count  doth  look ; 

And  faltering  is  the  tongue  of  lord,  and  pale  the  cheek  of  duke ; 

Till  starts  up  brave  Alonzo,  the  knight  of  Aguilar, 

The  lowmost  at  the  royal  board,  but  foremost  still  in  war. 

And  thus  he  speaks  : — “I  pray,  my  lord,  that  none  but  I may  go ; 

For  I made  promise  lo  the  Queen,  your  consort,  long  ago. 

That  ere  the  war  should  have  an  end,  I,  for  her  royal  charms 
And  for  my  duty  to  her  grace,  would  show  some  feat  of  arms  ! ” 

Much  joyed  the  King  these  words  to  hear,  — he  bids  Alonzo  speed ; 

And  long  before  their  revel ’s  o’er  the  knight  is  on  his  steed ; 

Alonzo ’s  on  his  milk-white  steed,  with  horsemen  in  his  train, 

A thousand  horse,  a chosen  band,  ere  da^vn  the  hills  to  gain. 

They  ride  along  the  darkling  ways,  they  gallop  all  the  night ; 

They  reach  Nevada  ere  the  cock  hath  harbingercd  the  light,  — 

But  ere  the)'  ’ve  climbed  that  steep  ravine,  the  east  is  glowing  red. 

And  the  Moors  their  lances  bright  have  seen,  and  Christian  banners  spread. 

Beyond  the  sands,  between  the  rocks,  where  the  old  cork-trees  grow. 

The  path  is  rough,  and  mounted  men  must  singly  march  and  slow ; 

There,  o’er  the  path,  the  heathen  range  their  ambuscado’s  line,  — 

High  up  they  wait  for  Aguilar,  as  the  day  begins  to  shine. 

7 


98 


THE  DEATH  OF  DON  ALONZO  OF  AGUILAR. 


There  naught  avails  the  eagle  eye  the  guardian  of  Castile, 

The  eye  of  wisdom,  nor  the  heart  that  fear  might  never  feel. 

The  ann  of  strength  that  wielded  well  the  strong  mace  in  the  fray. 
Nor  the  broad  plate  from  whence  the  edge  of  falchion  glanced  away. 

Not  knightly  valor  there  avails,  nor  skill  of  horse  and  spear  ; 

Por  rock  on  rock  comes  rumbling  dotvn  from  cliff  and  cavern  drear ; 
Down,  down  like  driving  hail  they  come,  and  horse  and  horsemen  die 
Like  cattle  whose  despair  is  dumb  when  the  fierce  lightnings  fly. 

Alonzo,  with  a handful  more,  escapes  into  the  field. 

There,  like  a lion,  stands  at  bay,  in  vain  besought  to  yield  ; 

A thousand  foes  around  are  seen,  but  none  draws  near  to  fight ; 

Afar,  with  bolt  and  javelin,  they  pierce  the  steadfast  knight. 

A hundred  and  a hundred  darts  are  hissing  round  his  head,  — 

Had  Aguilar  a thousand  hearts,  their  blood  had  all  been  shed ; 

Faint  and  more  faint  he  staggers  upon  the  slippery  sod,  — 

At  last  his  back  is  to  the  earth,  he  gives  his  soul  to  God. 

With  that  the  Moors  plucked  up  their  hearts  to  gaze  upon  his  face. 
And  caitiffs  mangled  where  he  lay  the  scourge  of  Afric’s  race. 

To  woody  Oxijera  then  the  gallant  corpse  they  drew. 

And  there  upon  the  village-green  they  laid  him  out  to  view. 

Upon  the  village-green  he  lay,  as  the  moon  was  shining  clear, 

And  all  the  village  damsels  to  look  on  him  drew  near,  — 

They  stood  around  him  all  a-gaze,  beside  the  big  oak-tree. 

And  much  his  beauty  they  did  praise,  though  mangled  sore  was  he. 

Now,  so  it  fell,  a Christian  dame,  that  knew  Alonzo  well. 

Not  far  from  Oxijera  did  as  a captive  dwell ; 

And  hearing  all  the  maiwcls,  across  the  woods  came  she. 

To  look  upon  this  Christian  corpse,  and  wash  it  decently. 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  KING  SEBASTIAN. 


&9 


She  looked  upon  him,  and  she  knew  the  face  of  Aguilar, 

Although  his  beauty  was  disgraced  mth  many  a ghastly  scar; 

She  knew  him,  and  she  cursed  the  dogs  that  pierced  him  from  afar. 

And  mangled  him  when  he  was  slain,  — the  Moors  of  Alpuxar. 

The  Moorish  maidens,  while  she  spake,  around  her  silence  kept. 

But  her  master  dragged  the  dame  away,  — then  loud  and  long  they  wept; 
They  washed  the  blood,  with  many  a tear,  from  dint  of  dart  and  arrow. 
And  buried  him  near  the  waters  clear  of  the  brook  of  AlpuxatTa. 


THE  DEPAETURE  OF  lUNG  SEBASTIAN. 


[The  reader  is  acquainted  with  the  melancholy  story  of  Sebastian,  King  of 
Portugal.  It  was  in  1578  that  his  unfortunate  expedition  and  death  took 
place. 

The  following  is  a version  of  one  of  the  Spanish  ballads  founded  on  the  his- 
tory of  Sebastian.  There  is  another,  which  describes  his  death,  almost  in  the 
words  of  a ballad  already  translated,  concerning  King  Juan  I.  of  Castile.] 


It  was  a Lusitanian  lady,  and  she  was  lofty  in  degree. 

Was  fairer  none  nor  nobler  in  all  the  realm  than  she  ; 

I saw  her  that  her  eyes  were  red,  as,  from  her  balcony. 

They  wandered  o ’er  the  crowded  shore  and  the  resplendent  sea. 

Gorgeous  and  gay,  in  Lisbon’s  Bay,  with  streamers  flaunting  wide, 
Upon  the  gleaming  waters  Sebastian’s  galleys  ride  ; 

His  valorous  armada  (was  never  nobler  sight !) 

Hath  young  Sebastian  marshalled  against  the  Moorish  might. 


100 


THE  DEPARTURE  OF  KING  SEBASTIAN. 


The  breeze  comes  forth  from  the  clear  north,  a gallant  breeze  there  blows ; 
Their  sails  they  lift,  then  out  they  drift,  and  first  Sebastian  goes. 

“ May  none  withstand  Sebastian’s  hand,  — God  sliield  my  King  ! ” she  said 
Yet  pale  was  that  fair  lady’s  cheek,  — her  weeping  eyes  were  red. 

She  looks  on  all  the  parting  host,  in  all  its  pomp  an-ayed,  — 

Each  pennon  on  the  wind  is  tost,  each  cognizance  displayed  ; 

Each  lordly  galley  flings  abroad,  above  its  armed  prow. 

The  banner  of  the  cross  of  God  upon  the  breeze  to  flow. 

But  one  there  is,  whose  banner,  above  tlie  Cross  divine, 

A scarf  upholds,  with  azure  folds,  of  love  and  faith  the  sign  ; 

Upon  that  galley’s  stern  ye  see  a peerless  warrior  stand,  — 

Though  first  he  goes,  still  back  he  throws  his  eye  upon  the  land. 

Albeit  through  tears  she  looks,  yet  well  may  she  that  form  desety,  — 

Was  never  seen  a vassal  mien  so  noble  and  so  high. 

Albeit  the  lady’s  cheek  was  pale,  albeit  her  eyes  were  red,  — 

“ May  none  withstand  rny  true-love’s  hand  1 God  bless  my  knight ! ” she  said. 

There  are  a thousand  barons,  all  harnessed  cap-a-pee. 

With  helm  and  spear  that  glitter  clear  above  the  dark-green  sea ; 

No  lack  of  gold  or  silver,  to  stamp  each  proud  device 
On  shield  or  surcoat,  — nor  of  chains  and  jewellery  of  price. 

The  seamen’s  cheers  the  lady  hears,  and  mingling  voices  come 
From  eveiy  deck,  of  glad  rebeck,  of  trumpet,  and  of  drum ; — 

“ Who  dare  withstand  Sebastian’s  hand?  — what  Moor  his  gage  may  fling 
At  young  Sebastian’s  feet  ? ” she  said.  “ The  Lord  hath  blessed  my  King.” 


MOORISH  BALLADS. 


It  is  sometimes  difficult  to  determine  which  of  the  Moorish  Ballads  ought  to  be 
included  in  the  Historical,  which  in  the  Romantic  class;  and  for  this  reason, 
the  following  five  specimens  are  placed  by  themselves.  Several  Ballads, 
decidedly  of  Moorish  origin,  such  as  Rkduan’s  Vow,  The  Flight 
FROM  Granada,  ^-c.,  have  been  printed  in  the  preceding  Section. 


THE  BULL-FIGHT  OF  GAZDL. 


[Gazul  is  tlie  name  of  one  of  the  Moorish  heroes  who  figure  in  the  Historia  de 
las  Guerras  Ciriles  de  Granada.  The  following  ballad  is  one  of  very  many  in 
which  the  dexterity  of  the  Moorish  cavaliers  in  the  Bull-fight  is  described.  The 
reader  will  observe  that  the  shape,  activity,  and  resolution  of  the  unhappy 
animal,  destined  to  furnish  the  amusement  of  the  spectators,  are  enlarged 
upon,  — just  as  the  qualities  of  a race-horse  might  be  among  our.=elves:  nor  is 
the  bull  without  his  name.  The  day  of  the  Baptist  is  a festival  among  the 
Mussulmans  as  well  as  among  Christians.] 


King  Almanzor  of  Granada,  he  hath  bid  the  trumpet  sound. 

He  hath  summoned  all  the  Moorish  lords  from  the  hills  and  plains  arountj  ; 
From  Vega  and  Sierra,  from  Betis  and  Xenil, 

They  have  come  with  helm  and  cuirass  of  gold  ancl  tiyisted  steel. 


102 


THE  BULL-FIGHT  OF  GAZUL. 


’T  is  the  lioly  Baptist’s  feast  they  hold  in  royalty  and  state. 

And  they  have  closed  the  spacious  lists  beside  the  Alhambra’s  gate ; 

In  gowns  of  black  with  silver  laeed,  within  the  tented  ring, 

Eight  Moors  to  fight  the  bull  are  plaeed,  in  presence  of  the  King. 

Eight  Moorish  lords  of  valor  tried,  with  stalwart  arm  and  true 
The  onset  of  the  beasts  abide,  as  they  eome  rushing  through  ; 

The  deeds  they ’ve  done,  the  spoils  they ’ve  won,  fill  all  with  hope  and  trusli 
Yet,  ere  high  in  heaven  appears  the  sun,  they  all  have  bit  the  dust. 

Then  sounds  the  trumpet  clearly,  then  clangs  the  loud  tambour : — 

“ Make  room,  make  room  for  Gazul ! — throw  wide,  throw  wide  the  door ! 
Blow,  blow  the  trumpet  clearer  still,  — more  loudly  strike  the  drum  ! 

The  Alcayde  of  Algava  to  fight  the  bull  doth  come.” 

And  first  before  the  King  he  passed,  with  reverence  stooping  low. 

And  next  he  bowed  him  to  the  Queen,  and  the  Infantas  all  a-rowe ; 

Then  to  his  lady’s  grace  he  turned,  and  she  to  him  did  throw 
A scarf  from  out  her  balcony  was  whiter  than  the  snow. 

With  the  lifeblood  of  the  slaughtered  lords  all  slippery  is  the  sand. 

Yet  proudly  in  the  centre  hath  Gazul  ta’en  his  stand; 

And  ladies  look  tvith  heaving  breast,  and  lords  with  anxious  eye, 

But  firmly  he  extends  his  arm,  — his  look  is  calm  and  high. 

Three  bulls  against  the  knight  are  loosed,  and  two  come  roaring  on, 

He  rises  high  in  stirrup,  forth  stretching  his  rejon  ; 

Each  furious  beast,  upon  the  breast  he  deals  him  such  a blow, 

He  blindly  totters  and  gives  back  across  the  sand  to  go. 

“ Turn,  Gazul,  turn  ! ” the  people  cry,  — the  third  comes  up  behind, 

Lo\y  to  the  sand  his  head  holds  he,  his  nostrils  snutf  the  wind  ; 

The  mountaineers  that  lead  the  steers  without  stand  whispering  low, 

“ Now  thipks  this  proud  tp  stgn  IJai-pado  so  1 ” 


THE  BULL-FIGHT  OF  GAZUL. 


103 


From  Guadiana  comes  he  not,  he  comes  not  from  Xenil, 

From  Guadalarif  of  the  plain,  or  Barves  of  the  hill ; 

But  where  from  out  tlie  forest  burst  Xarama’s  waters  clear. 

Beneath  the  oak-trees  was  he  nm'sed,  — this  proud  and  stately  steer. 

Dark  is  his  hide  on  cither  side,  but  the  blood  within  doth  boil. 

And  the  dun  hide  glows,  as  if  on  fire,  as  he  paws  to  the  turmoil. 

His  eyes  are  jet,  and  they  are  set  in  crystal  rings  of  snow ; 

But  now  they  stai'c  with  one  red  glare  of  brass  upon  the  foe. 

Upon  the  forehead  of  the  bull  the  horns  stand  close  and  near. 

From  out  the  broad  and  wrinkled  skull  like  daggers  they  appear ; 

His  neck  is  massy,  like  the  trunk  of  some  old  knotted  tree. 

Whereon  the  monster’s  shagged  mane,  like  billows  curled,  ye  see. 

His  legs  are  short,  his  hams  are  thick,  his  hoofs  are  black  as  night. 

Like  a strong  flail  he  holds  his  tail  in  fierceness  of  his  might ; 

Like  something  molten  out  of  iron,  or  hewn  from  forth  the  rock, 

Harpado  of  Xarama  stands,  to  bide  the  Alcayde’s  shock. 

Now  stops  the  drum ; close,  close  they  come  ; thrice  meet,  and  thrice  gira 
back ; 

The  white  foam  of  Harpado  lies  on  the  charger’s  breast  of  black,  — 

The  white  foam  of  the  charger  on  Harpado’s  front  of  dun ; 

Once  more  advance  upon  his  lance,  — once  more,  thou  fearless  one  ! 

Once  more,  once  more  ! — in  dust  and  gore  to  ruin  must  thou  reel ! — 

In  vain,  in  vain  thou  tearest  the  sand  with  furious  heel,  — 

In  vain,  in  vain,  thou  noble  beast ! — I see,  I see  thee  stagger. 

Now  keen  and  cold  thy  neck  must  hold  the  stern  Alcayde’s  dagger  ! 

They  have  slipped  a noose  around  his  feet,  six  horses  are  brought  in. 

And  away  they  drag  Harpado  with  a loud  and  joyful  din. 

Now  stoop  thee,  lady,  from  thy  stand,  and  the  ring  of  price  bestow 
Upon  Gazul  of  Algava,  that  hath  laid  Harpado  low. 


104 


THE  ZKGRl’S  BRIDE. 


THE  ZEGRI’S  BRIDE. 


[The  reader  cannot  need  to  be  reminded  of  the  fatal  effects  which  were 
produced  by  the  feuds  subsisting  between  the  two  great  families,  or  rather 
races,  of  the  Zegris  and  the  Abeucerrages  of  Granada.  This  ballad  is  also 
from  the  Guerras  Cimles.\ 


Or  all  the  blood  of  Zegri,  the  chief  is  Lisaro, 

To  wield  rejon  like  him  is  none,  or  javelin  to  throw ; 

From  tho  place  of  his  dominion,  he  ere  the  dawn  doth  go. 

From  Alcala  dc  Henares,  he  rides  in  weed  of  woe. 

He  rides  not  now  as  he  was  w'ont  when  ye  have  seen  him  speed 
To  the  field  of  gay  Toledo,  to  fling  his  lusty  reed  ; 

No  gambeson  of  silk  is  on,  nor  rich  embroidery 
Of  gold-wrought  robe  or  turban,  nor  jewelled  tahali. 

No  amethyst  nor  garnet  is  shining  on  his  brow. 

No  crimson  sleeve,  which  damsels  w^eave  at  Tunis,  decks  him  now ; 

The  belt  is  black,  the  hilt  is  dim,  but  the  sheathed  blade  is  bright ; 

They  have  housencd  his  barb  in  a murky  garb,  but  yet  her  hoofs  are  light. 

Four  horsemen  good,  of  the  Zegri  blood,  with  Lisaro  go  out ; 

No  flashing  spear  may  tell  them  near,  but  yet  their  shafts  are  stout ; 

In  darkness  and  in  swiftness  rides  every  armed  knight,  — 

The  foam  on  the  rein  ye  may  see  it  plain,  but  nothing  else  is  white 

Young  Lisaro,  as  on  they  go,  his  bonnet  doffeth  he,  — 

Between  its  folds  a sprig  it  holds  of  a dark  and  glossy  tree ; 

That  sprig  of  bay,  were  it  away,  right  heavy  heart  had  he,  — 

Fair  Zayda  to  her  Zegri  gave  that  token  privily. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  ANDALLA. 


105 


And  ever  as  they  rode,  he  looked  upon  his  lady’s  boon  : 

“ God  knows,”  quoth  he,  “ what  fate  may  be  ! — I may  bo  slauglitered  soon ; 
Thou  still  art  mine,  tliough  scarce  the  sign  of  hope  that  bloomed  whilere. 
But  in  my  grave  I y^et  shall  have  my  Zayda’s  token  dear.” 

Young  Lisaro  was  musing  so,  when  onwards  on  the  path 

He  well  could  see  them  riding  slow,  — then  pricked  he  in  his  wratn  . — 

The  raging  sire,  the  kinsmen  of  Zayda’s  hateful  house. 

Fought  well  that  day,  yet  in  the  fray  the  Zegri  won  his  spouse. 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  ANDALLA. 


“Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa  ! lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town  ! 

From  gay  guitar  and  violin  the  silver  notes  are  flowing. 

And  the  lovely  lute  doth  speak  between  the  trumpet’s  lordly  blowing, 

And  banners  bright  from  lattice  light  are  waving  everywhere. 

And  the  tall,  tall  plume  of  our  cousin’s  bridegroom  floats  proudly  in  the  air 
Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa  ! lay  the  golden  cusliion  doivn ; 

Rise  up,  come  to  the  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town ! 

“ Arise,  arise,  Xarifa  ! I see  Andalla’s  face,  — 

He  bends  him  to  the  people  with  a calm  and  princely  grace  ; 

Through  all  the  land  of  Xeres  and  banks  of  Guadalquiver 
Rode  forth  bridegroom  so  brave  as  he,  so  brave  and  lovely,  never. 

Yon  tall  plume  waving  o’er  his  brow,  of  purple  mixed  with  white, 

I guess ’t  was  weathed  by  Zara,  whom  he  will  wed  to-night. 


106 


THE  BRIDAL  OF  ANDALLA. 


Rise  up,  rise  up,  Xarifa ! lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 

Rise  up,  come  to  tlic  window,  and  gaze  with  all  the  town  1 

“ What  ailcth  thee,  Xarifa,  — what  makes  thine  eyes  look  do\vn  ? 

Wliy  stay  ye  from  the  window  far,  nor  gaze  with  all  the  town  % 

I ’ve  heard  you  say  on  many  a day,  and  sure  you  said  the  truth, 

Andalla  rides  without  a peer  among  all  Granada’s  youth  : 

Without  a peer  he  rideth,  and  yon  milk-white  horse  doth  go 
Bcncatli  his  stately  master,  with  a stately  step  and  slow  : — 

Tlien  rise,  0 rise,  Xarifa  ! lay  the  golden  cushion  down  ; 

Unseen  here  through  the  lattice,  you  may  gaze  with  all  the  town  ! ” 

The  Zegri  lady  rose  not,  nor  laid  her  cushion  down, 

Nor  came  she  to  the  window  to  gaze  with  all  the  town  ; 

But  though  her  eyes  dwelt  on  her  knee,  in  vain  her  fingers  strove. 

And  though  her  needle  pressed  the  silk,  no  flower  Xarifa  wove ; 

One  bonny  rose-bud  she  had  traced  before  the  noise  drew  nigh,  — 

That  bonny  bud  a tear  effaced,  slow  drooping  from  her  eye : 

“ No,  no  ! ” she  sighs,  — “ bid  me  not  rise,  nor  lay  my  cushion  down, 
To  gaze  upon  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing  town  ! ” 

“ Why  rise  ye  not,  Xarifa,  — nor  lay  your  cushion  down,  — 

Why  gaze  ye  not,  Xarifa,  with  all  the  gazing  town  1 

Hear,  hear  the  trumpet  how  it  swells,  and  how  the  people  cry  : 

He  stops  at  Zara’s  palace-gate,  — why  sit  ye  still,  0 why  ! ” 

“ At  Zara’s  gate  stops  Zara’s  mate ; in  him  shall  I discover 

The  dark-eyed  youth  pledged  me  his  truth  with  tears,  and  was  my  lover 
I will  not  rise,  with  weary  eyes,  nor  lay  my  cushion  do^vn, 

To  gaze  on  false  Andalla  with  all  the  gazing  town ! ” 


zaka’s  ear-eings. 


107 


ZARA’S  EAR-RINGS. 


My  ear-rings  ! my  ear-rings  ! they ’ve  di-opped  into  the  well, 

And  what  to  say  to  Mu^a,  I cannot,  cannot  tell : — 

’T  was  thus,  Granada’s  fountain  by,  spoke  Albuharez’  daughter  : — 
The  well  is  deep,  — far  down  they  lie,  beneath  the  cold  blue  water ; 

To  me  did  Mu9a  give  them,  when  he  spake  his  sad  farewell. 

And  what  to  say  when  he  comes  back,  alas  ! I cannot  tell. 

My  ear-rings  ! my  ear-rings  ! — they  were  pearls,  in  silver  set. 

That,  when  my  Moor  was  far  away,  I ne’er  should  him  forget ; 

That  I ne’er  to  other  tongues  should  list,  nor  smile  on  other’s  tale. 

But  remember  he  my  lips  had  kissed,  pure  as  those  car-rings  pale. 
When  he  comes  back,  and  hears  that  I have  dropped  them  in  tKe  well, 
0 what  will  Mu9a  think  of  me  ! — I cannot,  cannot  tell ! 

My  ear-rings  ! my  ear-rings  ! — he  ’ll  say  they  should  have  been. 

Not  of  pearl  and  of  silver,  but  of  gold  and  glittering  sheen. 

Of  jasper  and  of  onyx,  and  of  diamond  shining  clear. 

Changing  to  the  changing  light,  with  radiance  insincere ; 

That  changeful  mind  unchanging  gems  are  not  befitting  well ; 

Thus  wll  he  think,  — and  what  to  say,  alas  ! I cannot  tell. 

He  ’ll  think,  when  I to  market  went,  I loitered  by  the  way ; 

He  ’ll  think  a willing  ear  I lent  to  all  the  lads  might  say ; 

He  ’ll  think  some  other  lover’s  hand,  among  my  tresses  noosed. 

From  the  ears  where  he  had  placed  them  my  rings  of  pearl  unloosed ; 
He  ’ll  think  when  I was  sporting  so  beside  tliis  marble  well 
My  pearls  fell  iu,  — and  what  to  say,  alas  ! I cannot  tell. 


108 


THE  EAMEXTATION  FOR  CELIN. 


He  ’ll  s!iy,  I am  a woman,  and  we  are  all  the  same  ; 

He  ’ll  say,  1 loved,  when  he  was  here  to  whisper  of  his  flame, — 
But,  when  he  went  to  Tunis,  iny  virgin  troth  had  broken. 

And  thought  no  more  of  Mu9a,  and  cared  not  for  his  token. 

My  ear-rings  ! my  ear-rings  1 O luckless,  luckless  well  1 — ^ 

For  what  to  say  to  Mu^a,  alas  1 I cannot  tell. 

I ’ll  tell  the  truth  to  Mu(;a,  — and  I hope  he  will  believe,  — 

That  I thought  of  him  at  morning,  and  thought  of  him  at  eve  : 
That,  musing  on  my  lover,  when  down  the  sun  was  gone. 

His  ear-rings  in  my  hand  I held,  by  the  fountain  all  alone; 

And  that  my  mind  was  o’er  the  sea,  when  from  my  hand  they  fell. 
And  that  deep  his  love  lies  in  my  heart,  as  they  lie  in  the  well. 


THE  LAMENTATION  FOR  CELIN. 


At  the  gate  of  old  Granada,  when  all  its  bolts  are  barred. 

At  twilight,  at  the  Vega  gate,  there  is  a trampling  heard  ; 

There  is  a trampling  heard,  as  of  horses  treading  slow. 

And  a weeping  voice  of  women,  and  a heavy  sound  of  woe. 

What  tower  is  fallen,  what  star  is  set,  what  chief  come  these  bewailing  ? — 
“ A tower  is  fallen,  a star  is  set  1 — Alas  ! alas  for  Celin  1 ” 

Three  times  they  knock,  three  times  they  cry,  and  wide  the  doors  they  throw; 
Dejectedly  they  enter,  and  mournfully  they  go ; 

In  gloomy  lines  they  mustering  stand  beneath  the  hollow  porch. 

Each  horseman  grasping  it  his  hand  a black  and  flaming  torch ; 

Wet  is  each  eye  as  they  go  by,  and  all  around  is  wailing. 

For  all  have  heard  the  misery.  — “ Alas  1 alas  for  Celin  1 ” 


THJE  LAMEXTATION  FOR  CKLIN. 


10& 


Him,  yesterday,  a Moor  did  slay,  of  Benceirajc’s  blood,  — 

'T  was  at  the  solemn  jousting,  — around  the  nobles  stood  : 

The  nobles  of  the  land  were  by,  and  ladies  bright  and  fair 
Looked  from  their  latticed  windows,  the  haughty  sight  to  share  ; 

But  now  the  nobles  all  lament,  — the  ladies  are  bewailing,  — 

For  he  was  Granada’s  darling  kniglit.  — “ Alas  ! alas  for  Celin ! ” 

Before  him  ride  his  vassals,  in  order  two  by  two, 

With  ashes  on  their  turbans  spread,  most  pitiful  to  view ; 

Behind  him  his  four  sisters,  each  wrapped  in  sable  veil. 

Between  the  tambour’s  dismal  strokes  take  up  their  doleful  tale ; 

When  stops  the  muffled  drum,  ye  hear  their  brotherless  bewailing. 

And  all  the  people,  far  and  near,  cry,  — “ Alas  ! alas  for  Celin ! ” 

Oh  ! lovely  lies  he  on  the  bier,  above  the  pm-ple  pall. 

The  flower  of  all  Granada’s  youth,  the  loveliest  of  them  all ; 

His  dark,  dark  eyes  are  closed,  his  rosy  lip  is  pale. 

The  crust  of  blood  lies  black  and  dim  upon  his  burnished  mail ; 

And  ever  more  the  hoarse  tambour  breaks  in  upon  their  wailing,  — 

Its  sound  is  like  no  earthly  sound,  — “ Alas  ! alas  for  Celin  ! *’ 

The  Moorish  maid  at  the  lattice  stands,  — the  Moor  stands  at  his  door ; 
One  maid  is  wringing  of  her  hands,  and  one  is  weeping  sore  ; 

Down  to  the  dust  men  bow  their  heads,  and  ashes  black  they  strew 
Upon  their  broidered  garments,  of  crimson,  green,  and  blue  ; 

Before  each  gate  the  bier  stands  still,  — then  bursts  the  loud  bewailing 
From  door  and  lattice,  high  and  low,  — “ Alas  ! alas  for  Celin  1 ” 

An  old,  old  woman  cometh  forth,  when  she  hears  the  people  cry,  — 

Her  hair  is  white  as  silver,  like  horn  her  glazed  eye  : 

’T  was  she  that  nursed  him  at  her  breast,  — that  nursed  him  long  ago  : 

She  knows  not  whom  they  all  lament,  but  soon  she  well  shall  know  1 
With  one  deep  shriek,  she  through  doth  break,  when  her  cars  receive  their 
wailing : — 

“ Let  me  kiss  my  Celin  ere  I die ! — Alas ! alas  for  Celin ! ” 


EOMANTIC  BALLADS. 


y 


THE  MOOK  CALAYNOS. 


[In  the  following  version,  I have  taken  liberty  to  omit  many  of  the  introduc- 
tory stanzas  of  the  famous  Capias  de  Calainos.  The  reader  will  remember  that 
this  ballad  is  alluded  to  in  Don  Quixote,  where  the  knight’s  nocturnal  visit  to 
Toboso  is  described.  It  is  generally  believed  to  be  among  the  most  ancient,  and 
certainly  was  among  the  most  popular,  of  all  the  ballads  in  the  Cancion'.ro  } 


“ I HAD  six  Moorish  nurses,  but  the  seventh  was  not  a Moor,  — 

The  Moors  they  gave  me  milk  enow,  hut  the  Christian  gave  me  lore ; 
And  she  told  me  ne’er  to  listen,  though  sweet  the  words  might  be, 

TiU  he  that  spake  had  proved  his  troth,  and  pledged  a gallant  fee.” 

“ Fair  damsel,”  quoth  Calaynos,  if  thou  wilt  go  with  me. 

Say  what  may  win  thy  favor,  and  mine  that  gift  shall  he  : 

Fair  stands  the  castle  on  the  rock,  the  city  in  the  vale. 

And  bonny  is  the  red,  red  gold,  and  rich  the  silver  pale.” 

“Fair  sir,”  quoth  she,  “virginity  I never  will  lay  down 
For  gold,  nor  yet  for  silver,  for  castle,  nor  for  town  ; 

But  I will  be  your  leman  for  the  heads  of  certain  peers,  — 

And  I ask  but  three,  — Einaldo’s,  Boland’s,  and  Olivier’s.” 

He  kissed  her  hand  where  she  did  stand,  he  kissed  her  lips  also. 

And  “ Bring  forth,”  he'cries,  “ my  pennon,  for  to  Paris  I must  go ! ” — 
I wot  he  saw  them  rearing  his  banner  broad  right  soon. 

Whereon  revealed  his  bloody  field  its  pale  and  crescent  moon. 


114 


THE  MOOR  CAEAYN03. 


That  broad  banncre  the  Moor  did  rear,  ere  many  days  were  gone, 

In  foul  disdain  of  Charlemagne,  by  the  church  of  good  Saint  John  ; 

III  the  midst  of  stately  Paris,  on  the  royal  banks  of  Seine, 

Shall  never  scornful  Paynim  that  pennon  rear  again. 

Ills  banner  he  hath  planted  high,  and  loud  his  trumpet  blown. 

That  all  the  twelve  might  hear  it  well  around  King  Charles’s  throne ; 

The  note  he  blew,  right  well  they  knew ; both  Paladin  and  Peer 
Had  the  trumpet  heard  of  that  stern  lord  in  many  a fierce  career. 

It  chanced  the  King,  that  fair  morning,  to  the  chase  had  made  him  bowne. 
With  many  a knight  of  warlike  might  and  prince  of  high  renown ; 

Sir  Reynold  of  Montalban,  and  Claros’  lord,  Gaston, 

Behind  him  rode,  and  Bertram  good,  that  reverend  old  baron. 

Black  D 'Ardennes’  eye  of  mastery  in  that  proud  troop  was  seen  ; 

And  there  was  Urgel’s  giant  force,  and  Guarinos’  princely  mien  ; 

Gallant  and  gay  upon  that  day-was  Baldwin’s  youthful  cheer, 

But  first  did  ride,  by  Charles’s  side,  Roland  and  Olivier. 

Now  in  a ring,  around  the  King,  not  fiir  in  the  greenwood. 

Awaiting  all  the  huntsman’s  call,  it  chanced  the  nobles  stood ; 

“ Now  list,  mine  earls,  now  list ! ” quoth  Charles,  — “ yon  breeze  will  coma 
again,  — 

Some  trumpet-note  methinks  doth  float  from  the  fair  bank  of  Seine.” 

He  scarce  had  heard  the  trumpet,  the  word  he  scarce  had  said. 

When  among  the  trees  he  near  him  secs  a dark  and  turbaned  Iiead. 

“ Now  stand,  now  stand  at  my  command,  bold  Moor ! ” quoth  Charlemagne ; 
“ That  turban  green,  how  dare  it  be  seen  among  the  woods  of  Seine  1 ” 

'■  My  turban  green  must  needs  be  seen  among  the  woods  of  Seine,” 

The  Moor  replied,  “ since  here  I ride  in  quest  of  Charlemagne ; 

For  I serve  the  Moor  Calaynos,  and  1 his  defiance  bring 
To  every  lord  that  sits  at  the  board  of  Charlemagne  your  King. 


THE  MOOR  CALAYNOS. 


115 


“ N’o'w,  lordlings  fair,  if  anywhere  in  the  wood  ye ’ve  seen  him  riding, 

0,  tell  me  plain  the  path  he  has  ta’en,  — there  is  no  cause  for  chiding ; 

I For  my  lord  hath  blown  his  trumpet  by  every  gate  of  Paris, 
i Long  hour's  in  vain,  by  the  bank  of  Seine,  upon  his  steed  he  tarries.” 

When  the  Emperor  had  heard  the  Moor,  full  red  was  his  old  cheek  : — 

“ Go  back,  base  cur,  upon  the  spur,  for  I am  he  you  seek  : 

Go  back,  and  tell  your  master  to  commend  him  to  Mahoun, 

For  his  soul  shall  dwell  with  him  in  hell,  or  ere  yon  sun  go  down  ! 

“ Mine  arm  is  weak,  my  hau'S  are  gray,”  (thus  spake  King  Charlemagne,) 
“ Would  for  one  hour  I had  the  power  of  my  young  days  again. 

As  when  I plucked  the  Saxon  from  out  the  mountain-den  ! 

0 soon  should  cease  the  vaunting  of  this  proud  Saracen  ! 

“ Though  now  mine  arm  be  weakened,  though  now  my  hairs  be  gray. 

The  hard-won  praise  of  other  days  cannot  be  swept  away  ; 

If  shame  there  be,  my  liegemen,  that  shame  on  you  must  lie  ; 

Go  forth,  go  forth,  good  Poland  ; to-night  this  Moor  must  die  ! ” 

Then  out  and  spake  rough  Eoland  : “ Ofttimes  I ’ve  thinned  the  ranks 
Of  the  hot  Moor,  and  when ’t  was  o’er  have  won  me  little  thanks  ; 

I Some  carpet  knight  will  take  delight  to  do  this  doughty  feat. 

Whom  damsels  gay  shall  well  repay  with  smiles  and  whispers  sweet.” 

! Then  ont  and  spake  Sir  Baldwin,  — the  youngest  peer  was  he,  — 

The  youngest  and  the  comeliest : “ Let  none  go  forth  but  me ; 

I Sir  Poland  is  mine  uncle,  and  he  may  in  safety  jeer. 

But  I win  show,  the  youngest  may  be  Sir  Poland’s  peer.” 

“ Nay,  go  not  thou,”  quoth  Charlemagne  ; “ thou  art  my  gallant  youth. 
And  braver  none  I look  upon ; but  thy  cheek  it  is  too  smooth. 

And  the  curls  upon  thy  forehead  they  are  too  glossy  bright ; 

Some  elder  peer  must  couch  his  spear  against  this  crafty  knight.” 


116 


THE  MOOK  CALAYNOS. 


But  away,  away  goes  Baldwin,  — no  words  can  stop  him  now ; 

Behind  him  lies  the  greenwood,  he  hath  gained  the  mountain’s  brow ; 

He  reineth  first  his  charger  within  the  churchyard  green. 

Where,  striding  slow  the  elms  below,  the  haughty  Moor  is  seen. 

Then  out  and  spake  Calaynos  : “ Fair  youth,  I greet  thee  well ; 

Thou  art  a comely  stripling,  and  if  thou  with  me  wilt  dwell. 

All  for  the  grace  of  thy  sweet  face,  thou  shalt  not  lack  thy  fee, 

Witliin  my  lady’s  chamber  a pretty  page  thou  ’It  be.” 

An  angry  man  was  Baldwin  when  thus  he  heard  him  speak  : 

“Proud  knight,”  quoth  he,  “I  come  with  thee  a bloody  spear  to  break  ! ” 
O sternly  smiled  Calaynos,  when  thus  he  heard  him  say  : 

0 loudly  as  he  mounted  his  mailed  barb  did  neigh. 

One  shout,  one  thnrst,  and  in  the  dust  young  Baldwin  lies  full  low ; 

No  youthful  knight  could  bear  the  might  of  that  fierce  wanior’s  blow ; 
Calaynos  draws  his  falchion,  and  waves  it  to  and  fro  : 

“ Thy  name  now  say,  and  for  mercy  pray,  or  to  hell  thy  soul  must  go  1 ” 

The  helpless  youth  revealed  the  truth  : then  said  the  conqueror : 

“ I spare  thee  for  thy  tender  years,  and  for  thy  great  valor  : 

But  thou  must  rest  thee  captive  here,^nd  serve  me  on  thy  knee. 

For  fain  I ’d  tempt  some  doughtier  peer  to  come  and  rescue  thee.” 

Sir  Roland  heard  that  haughty  word,  — (he  stood  behind  the  wall,)  — 

His  heart,  I trow,  was  heavy  enow,  when  he  saw  his  kinsman  fall. 

But  now  his  heart  was  burning,  and  never  word  he  said. 

But  clasped  his  buckler  on  his  arm,  his  helmet  on  his  head. 

Another  sight  saw  the  Moorish  knight,  when  Roland  blew  his  hom 
To  call  him  to  the  combat  in  anger  and  in  scorn ; 

All  cased  in  steel  from  head  to  heel,  in  the  stin-up  high  he  stood, 

The  long  spear  quivered  in  his  hand,  as  if  atliirst  for  blood. 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  GATFEROS. 


H7 


Then  out  and  spake  Calaynos  : “ Thy  name  I fain  would  hear ; 

A coronet  on  thy  helm  is  set ; I guess  thou  art  a peer.” 

Sir  Eoland  Ufted  up  his  horn,  and  blew  another  blast : 

“ No  words,  base  Moor  ! ” quoth  Eoland,  “ this  hour  shall  be  thy  last ! ” 

I wot  they  met  full  swiftly,  I wot  the  shock  was  rude  ; 

Down  fell  the  misbeliever,  and  o’er  him  Eoland  stood ; 

Close  to  his  throat  the  steel  he  brought,  and  plucked  his  beard  full  sore  ; 
“ TVhat  devil  brought  thee  hither  ? — speak  out  or  die,  false  Moor ! ” 

“ Oh  ! I serve  a noble  damsel,  a haughty  maid  of  Spain, 

And  in  evil  day  I took  my  way,  that  I her  grace  might  gain  ; 

Por  every  gift  I offered  my  lady  did  disdain, 

And  craved  the  ears  of  certain  peers  that  ride  with  Charlemagne.” 

Then  loudly  laughed  rough  Eoland  ; — “Pull  few  tvill  be  her  tears. 

It  was  not  love  her  soul  did  move,  who  bade  thee  beard  the  Peers.” 
With  that  he  smote  upon  his  throat,  and  spurned  his  crest  in  twain ; 

“ No  more,”  he  cries,  “ this  moon  wiU  rise  above  the  woods  of  Seine  ! ” 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  GAYFEROS. 


[The  story  of  Gayfer  de  Bourdeaux  is  to  be  found  at  great  length  in  the  Ro- 
mantic Chronicle  of  Charlemagne ; and  it  has  supplied  the  Spanish  minstrels 
with  subjects  for  a long  series  of  ballads.  In  that  which  follows,  Gayferos,  yet 
a boy,  is  represented  as  hearing  ftom  his  mother  the  circumstances  of  his 
father’s  death ; and  as  narrowly  escaping  with  his  own  life,  in  consequence  of  his 
step-father,  Count  Gadvan's  cruelty. 

There  is  another  ballad  which  represents  Gayferos,  now  grown  to  be  a man, 
as  coming  in  the  disguise  of  a pilgrim  to  his  mother’s  house,  and  slaying  his 


118 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  GAYFEROS. 


step-father  with  his  own  hand.  The  Countess  is  only  satisfied  as  to  his  identi- 
ty by  the  circumstance  of  the  finger : — 

El  dedo  bien  es  aqueste,  aqui  lo  rereys  faltar : 

La  condesa  que  esto  oyera  empezole  de  abra^ar.”] 


Before  her  knee  the  boy  did  stand,  within  the  dais  so  fair. 

The  golden  shears  were  in  her  hand,  to  clip  his  curled  hair ; 

And  ever,  as  she  clipped  the  curls,  such  doleful  words  she  spake. 

That  tears  ran  from  Gayferos’  eyes,  for  his  sad  mother’s  sake. 

“ God  grant  a beard  were  on  thy  face,  and  strength  thine  arm  within. 
To  fling  a spear,  or  swing  a mace,  like  Eoland  Paladin  ! 

Por  then,  I think,  thou  wouldst  avenge  thy  father  that  is  dead. 

Whom  envious  traitors  slaughtered  within  thy  mother’s  bed ; 

“ Their  bridal  gifts  were  rich  and  rare,  that  hate  might  not  be  seen  ; 
They  cut  me  garments  broad  and  fair,  — none  fairer  hath  the  Queen.” 
Then  out  and  spake  the  little  boy  : “ Each  night  to  God  I call. 

And  to  his  blessed  Mother,  to  make  me  strong  and  tall.” 

The  Count  he  heard  Gayferos,  in  the  palace  where  he  lay  ; 

“ Now  silence,  silence.  Countess  ! it  is  falsehood  that  you  say,  — 

I neither  slew  the  man,  nor  hired  another’s  sword  to  slay  ; 

But  for  that  the  mother  hath  desired,  be  sure  the  son  shall  pay ! ” 

The  Count  called  to  his  esquires,  (old  followers  were  they, 

AVhom  the  dead  lord  had  nurtured  for  many  a merry  day,) 

He  bade  them  take  their  old  lord’s  heir,  and  stop  his  tender  breath  ; 
Alas  1 ’t  was  piteous  but  to  hear  the  manner  of  that  death. 

“ List,  esquires,  list,  for  my  command  is  offspring  of  mine  oath. 

The  stirrup-foot  and  the  hilt-hand  see  that  ye  sunder  both  ; 

That  ye  cut  out  his  eyes ’t  were  best,  — the  safer  he  will  go  ; 

And  bring  a finger  and  the  heart,  that  I his  end  may  know.” 


THE  ESCAPE  OF  GAYFEROS. 


119 


The  esquii'es  took  the  little  boy  aside  with  them  to  go  ; 

Yet,  as  they  went,  they  did  repent : “ 0 God  ! must  this  be  so  ? 

How  shall  we  think  to  look  for  grace,  if  this  poor  child  we  slay. 

When  ranged  before  Christ  Jesii’s  face  at  the  great  judgment-day  1 ” 

While  they,  not  knowing  what  to  do,  were  standing  in  such  talk. 

The  Countess’  little  lapdog  bitch  by  chance  did  cross  their  walk  ; 

Then  oat  and  spake  one  of  the  ’squires  (you  may  licar  the  words  he  said) : 
“ I think  the  coming  of  this  bitch  may  serve  us  in  good  stead  : — 

“ Let  us  take  out  the  bitch’s  heart,  and  give  it  to  Galvan ; 

The  boy  may  with  a finger  pint,  and  be  no  worser  man.” 

With  that  they  cut  the  joint  away,  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 

That  he  must  wander  many  a day,  nor  once  those  parts  come  near. 

“ Tour  uncle  grace  and  love  will  show  ; he  is  a bounteous  man.” 

And  so  they  let  Gayferos  go,  and  turned  them  to  Galvan  ; 

The  heart  and  the  small  finger  upon  the  board  they  laid, 

And  of  Gayferos’  slaughter  a cunning  story  made. 

The  Countess,  when  she  hears  them,  in  great  grief  loudly  cries : 
Meantime  the  stripling  safely  unto  his  uncle  liies  : — 

“ Now  welcome,  my  fair  boy,”  he  said,  “ what  good  news  may  they  be 
Come  with  thee  to  thine  uncle’s  hall  i ” — “ Sad  tidings  come  with  me : — 

“ The  false  Galvan  had  laid  his  plan  to  have  me  in  my  grave ; 

But  I ’ve  escaped  him,  and  am  here,  my  boon  from  thee  to  crave. 

Rise  up,  rise  up,  mine  uncle,  thy  brother’s  blood  they ’ve  shed ! 

Rise  up,  — they ’ve  slain  my  father  within  my  mother’s  bed ! ” 


120 


MELISENDRA. 


MELISENDRA. 


[This  is  a version  of  another  of  the  ballads  concerning  Gayferos.  It  is  quoted 
in  the  chapter  of  the  Puppet-show  in  Don  Quixote.  “ Now,  sirs,  he  that  you 
see  there  a-horseback,  wrapt  up  in  the  Gascoign  cloak,  is  Don  Gayferos  him- 
self, whom  his  wife,  now  revenged  on  the  Moor  for  his  impudence,  seeing  from 
the  battlements  of  the  tower,  takes  for  a stranger,  and  talks  with  him  as  such, 
according  to  the  ballad,  — 

Quoth  Melisendra,  if  perchance. 

Sir  Traveller,  you  go  for  France,”  &c. 

The  place  of  the  lady’s  captivity  was  Saragossa,  anciently  called  SansueSa.] 


At  Sansuefia,  in  the  tower,  fair  Melisendra  lies, 

Her  heart  is  far  away  in  France,  and  tears  are  in  her  eyes  ; 

The  twilight  shade  is  thickening  laid  on  Sansuena’s  plain, 

Yet  wistfully  the  lady  her  weary  eyes  doth  strain. 

She  gazes  from  the  dungeon  strong,  forth  on  the  road  to  Paris, 
Weeping  and  wondering  why  so  long  her  lord  Gayferos  tarries  ; 
When  lo  ! a knight  appears  in  view,  — a knight  of  Christian  mien  : 
Upon  a milk-white  charger  he  rides  the  elms  between. 

She  from  her  window  reaches  forth  her  hand  a sign  to  make  : 

“ 0,  if  you  be  a knight  of  worth,  draw  near  for  mercy’s  sake  ; 

For  Biercy  and  sweet  charity,  draw  near.  Sir  Knight,  to  me. 

And  tell  me  if  ye  ride  to  France,  or  whither  bowne  ye  be. 


MEI.ISENDRA. 


121 


“ 0,  if  ye  be  a Christian  knight,  and  if  to  France  you  go, 

I pray  thee  tell  Gayferos  that  you  have  seen  my  woe  ; 

That  you  have  seen  me  weeping,  here  in  the  Moorish  tower. 

While  he  is  gay  by  night  and  day  in  hall  and  lady’s  bower. 

“ Seven  summers  have  I waited,  — seven  winters  long  are  spent : 

Yet  word  of  comfort  none  he  speaks,  nor  token  hath  he  sent ; 

And  if  he  is  weary  of  my  love,  and  would  have  me  wed  a stranger, 

Still  say  his  love  is  true  to  him,  — nor  time  nor  wrong  can  change  her ! ” 

The  knight,  on  stirrup  rising,  bids  her  wipe  her  tears  away  : 

“ My  love,  no  time  for  weeping,  no  peril  save  delay ; 

Come,  boldly  spring,  and  lightly  leap,  — no  listening  Moor  is  near  us,  — 
And  by  dawn  of  day  we  ’ll  be  far  away  ” ; — so  spake  the  knight  Gayferos. 

She  hath  made  the  sign  of  the  Cross  divine,  and  an  Ave  she  hath  said. 
And  she  dares  the  leap  both  wide  and  deep,  — that  lady  without  dread ; 
And  he  hath  kissed  her  pale,  pale  cheek,  and  lifted  her  behind  : 

Saint  Denis  speed  the  milk-white  steed ! — no  Moor  their  path  shall  find. 


122 


LADY  ALDA’S  dream. 


LADY  ALDA’S  DREAM. 


[The  following  is  an  attempt  to  render  one  of  the  most  admired  of  all  the 
Spanish  ballads. 

En  Paris  esta  Dona  Aida,  la  esposa  de  Don  Roldan, 

Trecientas  damns  con  ella,  para  la  accompanar, 

Todas  visten  un  vestido,  todas  caiman  un  cal(jar,  &c. 

In  its  whole  structure  and  strain,  it  bears  a very  remarkable  resemblance  to 
several  of  our  ballads,  both  English  and  Scottish.] 


In  Paris  sits  the  lady  that  shall  be  Sir  Roland’s  bride, 

Thi'ce  hundred  damsels  with  her,  her  bidding  to  abide ; ' 

All  clothed  in  the  same  fashion,  both  the  mantle  and  the  shoon. 

All  eating  at  one  table,  within  her  hall  at  noon  : 

All,  save  the  Lady  Alda,  — she  is  lady  of  them  all,  — 

She  keeps  her  place  upon  the  dais,  and  they  serve  her  in  her  hall ; 
The  thread  of  gold  a hundred  spin,  the  lawn  a hundred  weave. 

And  a hundred  play  sweet  melody  within  Alda’s  bower  at  eve. 

With  the  sound  of  their  sweet  playing,  the  lady  falls  asleep. 

And  she  dreams  a doleful  dream,  and  her  damsels  hear  her  weep  : 
There  is  sorrow  in  her  slumber,  and  she  waketh  with  a cry. 

And  she  calleth  for  her  damsels,  and  swiftly  they  come  nigh. 

“Now  what  is  it.  Lady  Alda,”  (you  may  hear  the  words  they  say,) 
“ Bringeth  soitow  to  thy  pillow,  and  chaseth  sleep  away  ? ” 

“ O my  maidens  ! ” quoth  the  lady,  “ my  heart  it  is  full  sore,  — 

I have  dreamt  a dream  of  evil,  and  can  slumber  never  more  ; 


LADY  ALDA’s  dream. 


128 


“ For  I was  upon  a mountain,  in  a bare  and  desert  place, 

And  I saw  a mighty  eagle,  and  a falcon  he  did  chase ; 

And  to  me  the  falcon  came,  and  I hid  it  in  my  breast : 

But  the  mighty  bird,  pursuing,  came  and  rent  away  my  vest ; 

And  he  scattered  all  the  feathers,  and  blood  was  on  his  beak. 

And  ever,  as  he  tore  and  tore,  I heard  the  falcon  shriek. 

Now  read  my  vision,  damsels,  — now  read  my  dream  to  me. 

For  my  heart  may  well  be  heavy  that  doleful  sight  to  see.”  ^ 

Out  spake  the  foremost  damsel  was  in  her  chamber  there 

(You  may  hear  the  words  she  says)  ; “ 0,  my  lady’s  dream  is  fair : 

The  mountain  is  St.  Denis’  choir,  and  thou  the  falcon  art ; 

And  the  eagle  strong  tliat  teareth  the  garment  from  thy  heart, 

Amd  scattereth  the  feathers,  he  is  the  Paladin, 

That,  when  again  he  comes  from  Spain,  must  sleep  thy  bower  within. 
Then  be  blithe  of  cheer,  my  lady,  for  the  dream  thou  must  not  grieve, 
It  means  but  that  thy  bridegroom  shall  come  to  thee  at  eve.” 

“ If  thou  hast  read  my  vision,  and  read  it  cunningly,” 

Thus  said  the  Lady  Alda,  “ thou  shalt  not  lack  thy  fee.” 

But  woe  is  me  for  Alda ! there  was  heard,  at  morning  hour, 

A voice  of  lamentation  ^vithin  that  lady’s  bower  ; 

For  there  had  come  to  Paris  a messenger  by  night. 

And  his  horse  it  was  a-weary,  and  his  visage  it  was  white  ; 

And  there ’s  weeping  in  the  chamber,  and  there ’s  silence  in  the  hall. 
For  Sir  Boland  has  been  slaughtered  in  the  chase  of  Eoncesval. 


124 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARINOS. 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARINOS. 

« 


[This  is  the  ballad  which  Don  Quixote  and  Sancho  Panza,  when  at  Toboso 
overheard  a peasant  singing,  as  he  was  going  to  his  work  at  daybreak.] 


The  day  of  Roncesvalles  was  a dismal  day  for  you, 

Ye  men  of  France,  for  there  the  lance  of  King  Charles  was  broke  in  two  ; 
Ye  well  may  curse  that  rueful  field,  for  many  a noble  peer 
In  fray  or  fight  the  dust  did  bite  beneath  Bernardo’s  spear. 

There  captured  was  Guarinos,  King  Charles’s  Admiral ; 

Seven  Moorish  kings  surrounded  him,  and  seized  him  for  their  thrall ; 
Seven  times,  when  all  the  chase  was  o’er,  for  Guarinos  lots  they  cast. 
Seven  times  Marlotes  won  the  throw,  and  the  knight  was  liis  at  last. 

Much  joy  had  then  Marlotes,  and  his  captive  much  did  prize ; 

Above  all  the  wealth  of  Ai'aby,  he  was  precious  in  his  eyes. 

Within  his  tent  at  evening  he  made  the  best  of  cheer. 

And  thus,  the  banquet  done,  he  spake  unto  his  prisoner : — 

“ Now,  for  the  sake  of  Alla,  Lord  Admiral  Guarinos, 

Be  thou  a Moslem,  and  much  love  shall  ever  rest  between  us  : 

Two  daughters  have  I,  — all  the  day  thy  handmaid  one  shall  be, 

The  other  (and  the  fairer  far)  by  night  shall  cherish  thee. 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARIN03. 


125 


“ The  one  shall  be  thy  waiting-maid,  thy  weary  feet  to  lave, 

To  scatter  perfumes  on  thy  head,  and  fetch  thee  garments  brave  ; 

The  other  — she  the  pretty  — shall  deck  thy  bridal  bower. 

And  my  field  and  my  city  they  both  shall  be  her  dower ; 

“ If  more  thou  wishest,  more  I '11  give  ; speak  boldly  what  thy  thought  is.” 
Thus  earnestly  and  kindly  to  Guarinos  said  Marlotes  : 

But  not  a moment  did  he  take  to  ponder  or  to  pause. 

Thus  clear  and  quick  the  answer  of  the  Christian  captive  was  : — 

“ Now,  God  forbid  ! Marlotes,  and  Mary,  his  dear  mother. 

That  I should  leave  the  faith  of  Christ,  and  bind  me  to  another : 

For  women,  I 've  one  wife  in  France,  and  I '11  wed  no  more  in  Spain  ; 

I change  not  faith,  I break  not  vow,  for  courtesy  or  gain.” 

Wroth  waxed  King  Marlotes,  when  thus  he  heard  him  say, 

And  all  for  ire  commanded  he  should  be  led  away ; 

Away  unto  the  dungeon-keep,  beneath  its  vault  to  lie. 

With  fetters  bound  in  darkness  deep,  far  off  from  sun  and  sky. 

With  iron  bands  they  bound  his  hands  ; that  sore,  unworthy  plight 
Might  well  express  his  helplessness,  doomed  never  more  to  fight. 

Again,  from  cincture  down  to  knee,  long  bolts  of  non  he  bore, 

Which  signified  the  knight  should  ride  on  charger  never  more. 

Three  times  alone,  in  all  the  year,  it  is  the  captive’s  doom 

To  see  God’s  daylight  bright  and  clear,  instead  of  dungeon-gloom ; 

Three  times  alone  they  bring  him  out,  like  Samson  long  ago. 

Before  the  Moorish  rabble-rout  to  be  a sport  and  show. 

On  three  high  feasts  they  bring  him  forth,  a spectacle  to  be,  — 

The  feast  of  Basque,  and  the  great  day  of  the  Nativity, 

And  on  that  mom,  more  solemn  yet,  when  maidens  strip  the  bowers. 

And  gladden  mosque  and  minaret  with  the  firstlings  of  the  flowers. 


126 


THE  ADMIRAL  GHARINOS. 


Days  come  and  go  of  gloom  and  show  : seven  years  are  come  and  gone ; 
And  now  doth  fall  the  festival  of  the  holy  Baptist  John  ; 

Christian  and  Moslem  tilts  and  jousts,  to  give  it  homage  due, 

And  rushes  on  the  paths  to  spread,  they  force  the  sulky  Jew. 

Marlotes,  in  his  joy  and  pride,  a target  high  doth  rear,  — 

Below  the  Moorish  knights  must  ride,  and  pierce  it  with  the  spear ; 

But ’t  is  so  high  up  in  the  sky,  albeit  much  they  strain. 

No  Moorish  lance  so  far  may  fly,  Marlotes’  prize  to  gain. 

Wroth  waxed  King  Marlotes,  when  he  beheld  them  fail ; 

The  whisker  trembled  on  his  lip,  — his  cheek  for  ire  was  pale  ; 

And  heralds  ])roclamation  made,  with  tnimpets,  through  the  town,  — 
“Nor  child  shall  suck,  nor  man  shall  eat,  till  the  mark  he  tumbled  down.’* 

The  cry  of  proclamation,  and  the  trumpet’s  haughty  sound, - 
Did  send  an  echo  to  the  vault  where  the  Admiral  was  bound. 

“ Now,  help  me,  God ! ” the  captive  cries,  “ what  means  this  din  so  loud  ? 
0 Queen  of  Heaven  ! be  vengeance  given  on  these  thy  haters  proud  ! 

“ 0,  is  it  that  some  Pagan  gay 'doth  Marlotes’  daughter  wed. 

And  that  they  bear  my  scorned  fair  in  triumph  to  bis  bed  1 
Or  is  it  that  the  day  is  come,  — one  of  the  hateful  three,  — 

When  they  with  trumpet,  fife,  and  dram  make  heathen  game  of  me  1 ” 

These  words  the  jailer  chanced  to  hear,  and  thus  to  liim  he  said  : 

“ These  tabors.  Lord,  and  trumpets  clear  conduct  no  bride  to  bed  ; 

Nor  has  the  feast  come  round  again,  when  he  that  has  the  right 
Commands  thee  forth,  thou  foe  of  Spain,  to  glad  tlie  people’s  sight. 

“ This  is  the  joyful  morning  of  John  the  Baptist’s  day. 

When  Moor  and  Christian  feasts  at  home,  each  in  bis  nation's  way  ; 

But  now  our  King  commands  that  none  his  banquet  shall  begin. 

Until  some  knight,  by  strength  or  sleight,  the  spearman’s  prize  do  win.” 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARIN’OS. 


127 


Then  out  and  spake  Guarinos  : “ O,  soon  each  man  should  feed, 

"Were  I but  mounted  once  again  on  my  own  gallant  steed  : 

0,  were  I mounted  as  of  old,  and  harnessed  cap-a-pee, 

Full  soon  Marlotes’  prize  I ’d  hold,  whate’er  its  price  may  be  ! 

“ Give  me  my  horse,  mine  old  gray  horse,  so  be  he  is  not  dead, 

All  gallantly  caparisoned,  with  plate  on  breast  and  head. 

And  give  the  lance  I brought  from  France ; and  if  I win  it  not, 

My  life  shall  be  the  forfeiture,  — I ’ll  yield  it  on  the  spot.” 

The  jailer  wondered  at  his  words  : thus  to  the  knight  said  he 
“ Seven  weary  years  of  chains  and  gloom  have  little  humbled  thee  ; 
There ’s  never  a man  in  Spain,  I trow,  the  like  so  well  might  bear. 
And  if  thou  wilt,  I with  thy  vow  rrfll  to  the  King  repair.” 

The  jailer  put  his  mantle  on,  and  came  unto  the  King,  — 

He  found  lain  sitting  on  the  throne,  within  his  listed  ring  ; 

Close  to  his  car  he  planted  him,  and  the  story  did  begin. 

How  bold  Guarinos  vaunted  him,  the  spearman’s  prize  to  win. 

That,  were  he  mounted  but  once'  more  on  his  own  gallant  gray. 

And  anned  with  the  lance  he  born  on  Roncesvalles’  day. 

What  never  Moorish  knight  could  pierce,  he  would  pierce  it  at  a blow. 
Or  give  with  joy  his  lifeblood  fierce,  af  Marlotes’  feet  to  flow. 

Much  marvelling,  then  said  the  King  : “ Bring  Sir  Guarinos  forth. 

And  in  the  grange  go  seek  ye  for  his  gray  steed  of  worth  ; 

His  arms  are  msty  on  the  wall,  — seven  years  have  gone,  I judge. 
Since  that  strong  horee  has  bent  his  force  to  be  a carrion  drudge  ; 

“How  this  will  be  a sight  indeed,  to  see  the  enfeebled  lord 
Essay  to  mount  that  ragged  steed  and  draw  that  ru.?ty'  sword,  ^ 

And  for  the  vaunting  of  his  phrase  he  well  deserves  to  die,  — 

So,  jailer,  gird  his  harness  on,  and  bring  your  champion  nigh.” 


128 


THE  ADMIRAL  GUARINOS. 


They  have  girilccl  on  his  shirt  of  mail,  his  cuisses  well  they ’ve  clasped. 

And  they ’ve  barred  the  helm  on  his  visage  pale,  and  his  hand  the  lancc 
hath  grasped. 

And  they  have  caught  the  old  gray  horse,  the  horse  he  loved  of  yore. 

And  he  stands  patving  at  the  gate,  — caparisoned  once  more. 

When  the  knight  came  out,  the  Moors  did  shout,  and  loudly  laughed  the 
King, 

For  the  horse  he  pranced  and  capered,  and  furiously  did  fling ; 

But  Guarinos  whispered  in  his  ear,  and  looked  into  his  face,  — 

Then  stood  the  old  charger  like  a lamb,  with  a calm  and  gentle  grace. 

O,  lightly  did  Guarinos  vault  into  the  saddle-tree. 

And,  slowly  riding  down,  made  halt  before  Marlotes’  knee ; 

Again  the  heathen  laughed  aloud  : “All  hail,  sir  knight,”  quoth  he, 

“ Now  do  thy  best,  thou  champion  proud  : thy  blood  I look  to  see.” 

With  that,  Guarinos,  lance  in  rest,  against  the  scoffer  rode. 

Pierced  at  one  thrust  his  envious  breast,  and  down  liis  tm-ban  trode. 

Now  ride,  now  ride,  Guarinos,  — nor  lance  nor  rowel  spare, — 

Slay,  slay,  and  gallop  for  thy  life  : the  land  of  France  lies  t/ieye ! 


THK  LADY  OF  THE  TKEK, 


129 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  TREE, 


[The  following  is  one  of  the  few  old  Spanish  ballads  in  which  mention  is 
made  of  the  Fairies.  The  sleeping  child’s  being  taken  away  from  the  arms  of 
the  nurse  is  a circumstance  quite  in  accordance  with  our  own  tales  of  Fairy- 
land ; but  the  seven  years’  enchantment  in  the  tree  reminds  us  more  of  those 
Oriental  fictions,  the  influence  of  which  has  stamped  so  many  indelible  traces 
on  the  imaginative  literature  of  Spain.] 


The  knight  had  hunted  long,  and  twilight  closed  the  day. 

His  hounds  were  weak  and  weaiy,  his  hawk  had  flown  away ; 

He  stopped  beneath  an  oak,  an  old  and  mighty  tree,  — 

Then  out  the  maiden  spoke,  and  a comely  maid  was  she. 

The  knight  ’gan  lift  his  eyes  the  shady  boughs  between,  — 

She  had  her  seat  on  liigh  among  the  oak-leaves  green  ; 

Her  golden  curls  lay  clustering  above  hm"  breast  of  snow. 

But  when  the  breeze  was  westering,  upon  it  they  did  flow. 

“ O,  fear  not,  gentle  knight ! there  is  no  cause  for  fear ; 

I am  a good  king’s  daughter,  long  years  enchanted  here ; 

Seven  cruel  fairies  found  me,  — they  charmed  a sleeping  child,  — 
Seven  years  their  charm  hath  bound  me,  a damsel  undefiled. 

“ Seven  weary  years  are  gone  since  o’er  me  charms  they  threw; 

I have  dwelt  here  alone,  — I have  seen  none  but  you. 

My  seven  sad  years  are  spent ; — for  Christ  that  died  on  rood^ 
Thou  noble  knight  consent,  and  lead  me  from  the  wood  : 

9 


130 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  TREE. 


“ 0,  bring  me  forth  again  from  out  this  darksome  place,  — 
I dare  not  sleep  for  terror  of  the  unholy  race 
O,  take  me,  gentle  sir  ! I ’ll  be  a wife  to  thee,  — 

I ’ll  be  tliy  lowly  leman,  if  wife  I may  not  be  S ” 

“ Till  dawns  the  morning,  wait,  thou  lovely  lady  ! here  ; 

I ’ll  ask  my  mother  straight,  for  her  reproof  I fear.” 

“ O,  ill  beseems  thee,  knight ! ” said  she,  that  maid  forlorn, 
“ The  blood  of  kings  to  slight,  — a lady’s  tears  to  scorn  1 ” 

He  came  when  morning  broke,  to  fetch  the  maid  away. 

But  could  not  find  the  oak  wherein  she  made  her  stay  ; 

All  through  the  wlderness  he  sought  in  bower  and  tree  ; — 
Bah  lordlings,  well  ye  guess  what  \veary  heart  had  he. 

There  came  a sound  of  voices  from  up  the  forest  glen. 

The  King  had  come  to  find  her  with  all  his  gentlemen  ; 
They  rode  in  mickle  glee,  — a joyous  cavalcade,  — 

Fair  in  the  midst  rode  she,  but  never  word  she  said  ; 

Though  on  the  green  he  knelt,  no  look  on  him  she  cast ; — ■ 
His  hand  was  on  the  hilt  ere  all  the  train  were  past ; 

“ 0,  shame  to  knightly  blood  ! 0,  scorn  to  chivalry  ! 

I ’ll  die  within  the  wood  : — no  eye  my  death  shall  see  ! ” 


THE  AVENGING  CHILDE. 


131 


THE  AVENGING  CHILDE. 


Hcreah  ! htirrah  1 avoid  the  way  of  the  Avenging  Childe  ; 

His  horse  is  swift  as  sands  that  drift,  — an  Arab  of  the  wild  ; 

His  gown  is  twisted  round  his  arm,  — a ghastly  cheek  he  wears  ; 

And  in  his  hand,  for  deadly  harm,  a hunting-knife  he  bears. 

Avoid  that  knife  in  battle-strife  : — that  weapon  short  and  thin. 

The  dragon’s  gore  hath  bathed  it  o’er,  seven  times ’t  was  steeped  therein; 
Seven  times  the  smith  hath  proved  its  pith,  — it  cuts  a coulter  through ; 

In  France  the  blade  was  fashioned,  — from  Spain  the  shaft  it  drew. 

He  sharpens  it,  as  he  doth  ride,  upon  his  saddlebow,  — 

He  sharpens  it  on  either  side,  he  makes  the  steel  to  glow ; 

He  rides  to  find  Don  Quadros,  that  false  and  faitour  knight ; 

His  glance  of  ire  is  hot  as  fire,  although  his  cheek  be  white. 

He  found  liim  standing  by  the  King  within  the  judgment-hall ; 

He  rushed  within  the  baron’s  ring,  — he  stood  before  them  all : 

Seven  times  he  gazed  and  pondered,  if  he  the  deed  should  do ; 

Eight  times  distraught  he  looked  and  thought,  — then  out  his  dagger  flew. 

He  stabbed  therewith  at  Quadros  : — the  King  did  step  between  ; 

It  pierced  his  royal  garment  of  purple  wove  with  green  : 

He  fell  beneath  the  canopy,  upon  the  tiles  he  la}'. 

Thou  traitor  keen,  what  dost  thou  mean  ? — thy  King  why  wouldst  thou 
slay  •?  ” 


132 


THE  AVENGING  CHILDE. 


“ Now,  pardon,  pardon,”  cried  the  Childe,  “ I staljbed  not.  King,  at  thee. 
Rut  him,  that  caitiff,  blood-defiled,  who  stood  beside  thy  knee ; 

Light  brothers  were  we,  — in  the  land  might  none  more  loving  be,  — 
They  all  are  slain  by  Quadros’  hand, — they  all  are  dead  but  me. 

“ Good  IGng,  I fain  would  wash  the  stain,  — for  vengeanee  is  my  cry  ; 
Tliis  murderer  with  sword  and  spear  to  battle  I defy ! ” 

But  all  took  part  with  Quadros,  except  one  lovely  May,  — 

Except  the  King’s  fair  daughter,  none  word  for  him  would  say. 

She  took  their  hands,  she  led  them  forth  into  the  court  below ; 

She  bade  the  ring  be  guarded,  — she  bade  the  trumpet  blow ; 

From  lofty  place  for  that  stem  race  the  signal  she  did  throw  : — 

“ With  trath  and  right  the  Lord  will  fight,  — together  let  them  go  ! ” 

The  one  is  up,  the  other  down ; the  hunter’s  knife  is  bare  ; 

It  cuts  the  lace  beneath  the  face,  — it  cuts  through  beard  and  hair ; 

Right  soon  that  knife  hath  quenched  his  life,  the  head  is  sundered  sheer; 
Then  gladsome  smiled  the  Avenging  Childe,  and  fixed  it  on  his  spear. 

But  when  the  King  beholds  him  bring  that  token  of  his  truth. 

Nor  scorn  nor  wrath  his  hosom  hath  : “ Kneel  down,  thou  noble  youth  ; 
Kneel  down,  kneel  down,  and  kiss  my  crown,  — I am  no  more  thy  fo« ; 
My  daughter  now  may  pay  the  vow  she  plighted  long  ago ! ” 


COUNT  ARNALDOS. 


13? 


COUNT  ARNALDOS. 


[From  the  Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1555.  I suppose  some  religious  allegoiy 
intended.] 


Who  had  ever  such  adventure. 

Holy  priest,  or  virgin  nun, 

As  befell  the  Count  Amaldos 
At  tlie  rising  of  the  sun  1 

On  his  wrist  the  hawk  was  hooded, 
Forth  with  horn  and  hound  went  he. 
When  he  saw  a stately  galley 
Saihng  on  the  silent  sea. 

Sail  of  satin,  masts  of  cedar. 

Burnished  poop  of  beaten  gold,  — 
Many  a morn  you  ’ll  hood  your  falcon 
Ere  you  such  a bark  behold. 

Sails  of  satin,  masts  of  cedar, 

Golden  poops,  may  come  again. 

But  mortal  ear  no  more  shall  hston 
To  yon  gray-haired  sailor’s  strain. 

Heart  may  beat,  and  eye  may  glisten, 
Faith  is  strong,  and  hope  is  free. 

But  mortal  ear  no  more  shall  listen 


134 


COUNT  ARNALDOS. 


When  the  gray-haired  sailor  chanted. 
Every  wind  was  hushed  to  sleep,  — 

Like  a virgin  bosom  panted 
All  the  wide  reposing  deep. 

Bright  in  beauty  rose  the  star-fish 
From  her  gi-ecn  cave  doum  below,  — 

Right  above  the  eagle  poised  him,  — 

Holy  music  charmed  them  so. 

“ Stately  galley ! glorious  galley  1 
God  hath  pom-ed  his  grace  on  thee  ! 

Thou  alone  mayst  scorn  the  perils 
Of  the  dread,  devouring  sea ! 

“False  Almeria’s  reefs  and  shallows. 
Black  Gibraltar’s  giant  rocks, 

Sound  and  sand-bank,  gulf  and  whirlpool. 
All  — my  glorious  galley  mocks  ! ” 

“ For  the  sake  of  Gcd,  our  maker  ! ” — 
(Count  Arnaldos’  ciy  was  strong,)  — 

“ Old  man,  let  me  be  partaker 
In  the  secret  of  thy  song  1 ” 

“ Count  Arnaldos  1 Count  Arnaldos  1 
Hearts  I read  and  thoughts  I know ; 

Wouldst  thou  learn  the  ocean  secret. 

In  our  galley  thou  must  go.” 


SOXG  FOR  THE  MORNING  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST.  135 


SONG  FOR  THE  MORNING  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. 


[The  Jlarquis  du  Palmy  said  many  yearn  ago  in  his  ingenious  essay  Sur  la 
Vie  privee  des  Franpois: — “ Les  feux  de  la  Saint  Jean,  fondds  sur  ce  qu’on  lit 
dans  le  Nouveaux  Testament  (St.  Luc.  i.  14),  que  les  nations  se  rejouirent 
a la  naissance  de  Saint  Jean,  sont  presque  eteints  par  tout.” 

Both  in  the  northern  and  the  southern  parts  of  Europe  there  prevailed  of  old 
a superstitious  custom,  of  which  the  traces  probably  linger  to  this  day  in  many 
simple  districts.  The  young  women  rose  on  this  sacred  morning  ere  the  sun 
was  up,  and  collected  garlands  of  flowers,  which  they  bound  upon  their  heads; 
and  according  as  the  dew  remained  upon  these  a longer  or  a shorter  time,  they 
augured  more  or  less  I'avorably  of  the  constancy  of  their  lovers.  Another  cer- 
emony' was  to  inclose  a wether  in  a hut  of  heath,  and  dance  and  sing  round  it, 
while  she  who  desired  to  have  her  fortune  told  stood  by  the  door.  If  the  weth- 
er remained  still,  the  omen  was  good.  If  he  pushed  his  horns  through  the  frail 
roof  or  door,  then  the  lover  was  false-hearted. 

That  the  day  of  the  Baptist  was  a great  festival  among  the  Spanish  Moors, 
the  reader  may  gather  from  many  passages  in  the  foregoing  ballads,  particular- 
ly that  of  the  Admiral  Guarinos.  There  are  two  iii  the  Cancionero  which  snow 
that  some  part  at  least  of  the  amorous  superstitions  of  the  day  were  also  shared 
by  them.  One  begins ; — 

La  manana  de  San  Juan,  salen  a coger  guimaldas 
Zara,  muger  del  Key  Chico,  con  sus  mas  queridas  damas. 

The  other : — 

La  manana  de  San  Juan,  a punta  que  alboreava. 

Gran  fiesta  hazen  los  Moros  por  la  Vega  de  Granada, 

Eebolviendo  sus  cavallos,  y jugando  con  las  lanzas, 

Ricos  pendones  en  ellas,  iabrados  por  las  amadas. 

Ei  moro  que  amores  tieiie,  senaies  deltas  monsLravay 
Y el  que  amiga  no  tenia,  alii  no  escarramupava,  ^c  ] 


136  SONG  FOR  THE  MORNING  OF  ST.  JOHN  THE  BAPTIST. 


Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  ’t  is  the  day  of  good  St.  John, 

It  is  the  Baptist’s  morning  that  breaks  the  hills  upon ; 

And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  while  the  blessed  day  is  new, 

To  dress  with  flowers  the  snow-white  wether,  ere  the  sun  has  dried  the  dew. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  &c. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  the  woodlands  all  are  green. 

And  the  little  birds  are  singing  the  opening  leaves  between ; 

And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  to  gather  trefoil  by  the  stream. 

Ere  the  face  of  Guadalquiver  glows  beneath  the  strengthening  beam. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  &c. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  and  slumber  not  away 
The  blessed,  blessed  morning  of  the  holy  Baptist’s  day ; 

There ’s  trefoil  on  the  meadow,  and  lilies  on  the  lee. 

And  hawthorn  blossoms  on  the  bush,  which  you  must  pluck  with  me. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  the  air  is  calm  and  cool. 

And  the  violet  blue  far  down  ye  ’ll  view,  reflected  in  the  pool ; 

The  violets  and  the  roses,  and  the  jasmines  all  together. 

We  ’ll  bind  in  garlands  on  the  brow  of  the  strong  and  lovely  wether. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  we  ’ll  gather  myrtle  boughs. 

And  we  shall  leani  from  the  dews  of  the  fern  if  our  lads  will  keep  their  vows  : 
If  the  wether  be  still,  as  wo  dance  on  the  hill,  and  the  dew  hangs  sweet  on 
the  flowers. 

Then  we  ’ll  kiss  oflF  the  dew,  for  our  lovers  are  true,  and  the  Baptist’s  bless- 
ing is  ours. 

Come  forth,  come  forth,  my  maidens,  ’t  is  the  day  of  good  St.  John, 

It  is  the  Baptist’s  morning  that  breaks  the  hills  upon  ; 

And  let  us  all  go  forth  together,  while  the  blessed  day  is  new. 

To  dress  with  flowers  the  snow-white  wether,  ere  the  sun  has  dried  the  dew. 


JULIANA. 


137 


JULIANA. 


[The  following  ballad  is  inserted  in  this  place  on  account  of  an  allusion  it 
contains  to  the  ancient  custom  which  forms  the  subject  of  the  preceding  one. 
It  seems  to  represent  the  frenzy  of  a Spanish  knight,  who  has  gone  mad,  in 
consequence  of  his  mistress  having  been  carried  off  in  tho  course  of  a Moorish 
foray.] 


“ Off  ! off!  ye  hounds  ! — in  madness  an  ill  death  be  your  doom ! 
The  boar  he  killed  on  Thursday  on  Friday  ye  consume  ! 

Ay  me  ! and  it  is  now  seven  years  I in  this  valley  go  ; 

Barefoot  I wander,  and  the  blood  from  out  my  nails  doth  flow. 

“ I cat  the  raw  flesh  of  the  hoar,  — I drink  his  red  blood  here. 
Seeking,  with  heavy  heart  and  sore,  my  princess  and  my  dear  : 

'T  was  on  the  Baptist’s  morning  the  Moors  my  princess  found. 
While  she  was  gathering  roses  upon  her  father’s  ground.” 

Fair  Juliana  heard  his  voice  where  by  the  Moor  she  lay. 

Even  in  the  Moor’s  encircling  arms  she  heard  what  he  did  say ; 
The  lady  listened,  and  she  wept  within  the  guarded  place,  — 

'While  her  Moor  lord  beside  her  slept,  the  tears  fell  on  his  face. 


138 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  GAELEY. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  GALLEY. 


[Cancioneeo  of  Valencia,  1511. 


Galeristas  de  Espana 
Farad  los  remos,  &c.] 


Ye  mariners  of  Spain, 

Bend  strongly  on  your  oars, 
And  bring  my  love  again. 

For  he  lies  among  tlie  Moors  ! 


Ye  galleys  fairly  built 
Like  castles  on  the  sea, 

O,  great  will  be  your  guilt, 

If  ye  bring  liim  not  to  me. 

The  wind  is  blowing  strong, 

The  breeze  will  aid  your  oars  • 

O,  swiftly  fly  along,  — 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors  ! 

The  sweet  breeze  of  the  sea 
Cools  every  check  but  mine  ; 

Hot  is  its  breath  to  me. 

As  I gaze  upon  the  brine. 


THE  WANDERING  KNIGHT’S  SONG. 


139 


Lift  up,  lift  up  your  sail. 

And  bend  upon  your  oars  ; 

0,  lose  not  the  fair  gale. 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors  f 

It  is  a narrow  strait, 

I see  the  blue  hills  over ; 

Tour  coming  I ’ll  await. 

And  thank  you  for  my  lover. 

To  Mary  I will  pray, 

Wliile  ye  bend  upon  your  oars  ; 

’T  will  be  a blessed  day. 

If  ye  fetch  him  from  the  Moors  ! 


THE  WAHDEEING  KNIGHT’S  SONG. 


[Ik  the  Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1556. 

Mis  arreos  son  las  armas 
Mi  descanso  el  pelear.] 


Mt  ornaments  are  anna. 

My  pastime  is  in  war, 

My  bed  is  cold  upon  the  wold. 
My  lamp  yon  star  : 


140 


SERENADE. 


My  journcyings  are  long, 

My  slumbers  short  and  broken  ; 
From  hill  to  hill  I wander  still, 
Kissing  thy  token. 

I ride  from  land  to  land, 

I sail  from  sea  to  sea,  — 

Some  day  more  kind  I fate  may  find, 
Some  night  kiss  thee ! 


SERENADE. 


[From  the  Romancero  General  of  1604. 

Mientras  duerme  mi  nina,  &C.3 


While  my  lady  sleepeth. 

The  dark  blue  heaven  is  bright,  — 
Soft  the  moonbeam  creepeth 
Round  her  bower  all  night. 

Thou  gentle,  gentle  breeze  1 
While  my  lady  slumbers. 

Waft  lightly  through  the  trees 
Echoes  of  my  numbers. 

Her  dreaming  ear  to  please. 


THE  CAPTIVE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  KI.ACKBIKD. 


141 


Should  ye,  breathing  numbers 
That  for  her  I weave. 

Should  ye  break  her  slumber’s. 

All  my  soul  would  grieve. 

Rise  on  the  gentle  breeze. 

And  gain  her  lattice’  heighi 
O’er  yon  poplar  trees ; 

But  be  your  echoes  light 
As  hum  of  distant  bees. 

All  the  stars  are  glowing 
In  the  gorgeous  sky ; 

In  the  stream  scarce  flowing 
Mimic  lustres  lie ; 

Blow,  gentle,  gentle  breeze  ! 

But  bring  no  cloud  to  hide 
Their  dear  resplendencies ; 

Nor  chase  from  Zara’s  side 
Dreams  bright  and  pure  as  these. 


THE  CAPTIVE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  BLACKBIRD. 


[Cancionero  of  Antwerp,  1555.] 


T IS  now,  they  say,  the  month  of  May,  — ’t  is  now  the  moons  are  bright ; 
T is  now  the  maids,  ’mong  greenwood  shades,  sit  with  their  loves  by  night ; 
T is  now  the  hearts  of  lovers  true  are  glad  the  groves  among  ; 

T is  now  they  sit  the  long  night  through,  and  list  the  thrush’s  song. 


142 


THE  CAPTIVE  KNIGHT  AND  THE  liLACKBIRD. 


“ Woe  dwells  with  me,  in  spite  of  thee,  thou  gladsome  month  of  May ! 
I cannot  see  what  stars  there  be,  I know  not  night  from  day  ; 

There  was  a biid,  whose  voice  I heard,  — O sweet  my  small  bird  sung  ! 
I lieard  its  tune  when  niglit  was  gone,  and  up  the  morning  sprung. 

“ To  comfort  me  in  darkness  bound,  comes  now  no  voice  of  cheer  ; 
Long  have  I listened  to  the  sound,  there  is  no  bird  to  hear  : 

Sweet  bird  ! he  had  a cruel  heart  whose  steel  thy  bosom  tore  ; 

A ruffian  hand  discharged  the  dart  that  makes  tliee  sing  no  more. 

“ I am  the  vassal  of  my  King,  — it  never  shall  be  said 
That  I even  hence  a curse  could  fling  against  my  liege’s  head ; 

But  if  the  jailer  slew  the  merle,  no  sin  is  in  my  word, 

God  look  in  anger  on  the  churl  that  harmed  my  harmless  bird  1 

“ O,  should  some  kindly  Christian  bring  another  bird  to  me. 

Thy  tune  I in  his  ear  would  sing,  till  he  could  sing  like  thee ; 

But  were  a dove  within  my  choice,  my  song  would  soon  be  o’er. 

For  he  would  understand  my  voice,  and  fly  to  Leonore. 

“ He  would  fly  swiftly  through  the  air,  and  though  he  could  not  speak, 
He’d  ask  a file,  which  he  could  bear  within  his  little  beak ; 

Had  I a file,  these  fetters  vile  I from  my  wrist  would  break. 

And  see  right  soon  the  fair  May  moon  shine  on  my  lady’s  cheek.” 

It  chanced,  while  a poor  captive  knight,  within  yon  dungeon  strong. 
Lamented  thus  the  aiTow’s  flight  that  stopped  his  blackbird’s  song, 
(Unknown  to  him)  the  King  was  near;  he  heard  him  through  the  wall; 
“Nay,  since  he  has  no  merle  to  hear,  ’tis  time  his  fetters  fall.” 


VALLADOLIP. 


148 


VALLADOLID. 


[Sepulveda’s  collection,  Antwerp,  1580. 

En  los  tempos  que  me  vi,  &c.] 


Mt  heart  was  happy  when  I turned  from  Burgos  to  Valladolid ; 

My  heart  that  day  was  light  and  gay,  — it  bounded  like  a kid. 

I met  a Palmer  on  the  way,  — my  horse  he  bade  me  rein  : 

“ I left  Valladolid  to-day,  — I bring  thee  news  of  pain  ; — 

The  lady-love  whom  thou  dost  seek  in  gladness  and  in  cheer, 

Closed  is  her  eye,  and  cold  her  cheek  : I saw  her  on  her  bier. 

“ The  priests  went  singing  of  the  mass,  — my  voice  their  song  did  aid  ; 
A hundred  knights  -with  them  did  pass  to  the  burial  of  the  maid  ; 

And  damsels  fair  went  weeping  there,  and  many  a one  did  say, 

Poor  cavalier ! he  is  not  here,  — ’t  is  well  he ’s  far  away.” 

I fell  when  thus  I heard  him  speak,  — upon  the  dust  I lay  ; 

I thought  my  heart  would  surely  break,  — I wept  for  half  a day. 

When  evening  came  I rose  again,  the  Palmer  held  my  steed  ; 

And  swiftly  rode  I o’er  the  plain  to  dark  Valladolid. 

I came  unto  the  sepulchre  where  they  my  love  had  laid,  — 

I bowed  me  down  beside  the  bier,  and  there  my  moan  I made  : 

“ 0,  take  me,  take  me  to  thy  bed,  I fain  would  sleep  with  thee ! 

My  love  is  dead,  my  hope  is  fled,  — there  is  no  joy  for  me.” 


144 


DRAGUT,  THE  CORSAIR. 


I heard  a sweet  voice  from  the  tomb,  — I hoard  her  voice  so  clear:  — 
“ Rise  up,  rise  up,  my  knightly  love  ! thy  weeping  well  I hear ; 

Rise  up  and  leave  this  darksome  place,  — it  is  no  place  for  thee. 

God  yet  will  send  thee  helpful  grace  in  love  and  chivalry  ; 

Though  in  the  grave  my  bed  I have,  — for  thee  my  heart  is  sore  : 

’T  will  ease  my  heart  if  thmi  depart,  — thy  peace  may  God  restore ' 


DRAGUT,  THE  CORSAIR. 


[Tms  celebrated  corsair  became  ultimately  High  Admiral  of  the  Turkish 
fleet,  and  was  slain  at  the  great  siege  of  Malta,  A.  D.  1565.] 


O,  SWIFTLY,  very  swiftly,  they  up  the  Straits  have  gone, — 

0,  swiftly  flies  the  corsair,  and  swift  the  cross  comes  on  ; 

The  cross  upon  yon  banner,  that  streams  unto  the  hreeze. 

It  is  the  sign  of  victory,  — the  cross  of  the  Maltese. 

“Row,  row,  my  slaves,”  quoth  Dragut,  — “the  Knights,  the  Knights  are 
near ; 

Row,  row]  my  slaves,  row  swiftly,  — the  starlight  is  too  clear  : 

The  stars  they  are  too  bright,  and  he  that  means  us  well. 

He  harms  us  when  he  trims  his  light,  — yon  Moorish  sentinel.” 

There  came  a ■wreath  of  smoke  from  out  a culverine. 

The  corsair’s  poop  it  broke,  and  it  sunk  into  the  brine  : 

Down  Moor  and  fettered  Glo’istian  went,  beneath  the  billows’  roar, 

But  hell  had  work  for  Dragut  yet,  and  he  swam  safe  ashore. 


COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOUSA. 


145 


One  only  of  the  captives,  a happj'  man  is  he,  — 

The  Christian  sailors  see  him,  yet  struggling  in  the  sea ; 

They  hear  the  captive  praying,  — they  hear  the  Christian  tongue,  — 
And  swiftly  from  the  galley  a saving  rope  was  flung. 

It  was  a Spanish  knight,  who  had  long  been  in  Algiers, 

From  ladies  high  descended,  and  noble  cavaliers ; 

But  forced,  for  a season,  a false  Moor’s  slave  to  be,  — 

Upon  the  shore  his  gardener,  his  galley-slave  at  sea. 

But  now  his  heart  is  dancing.  — he  sees  the  Spanish  land. 

And  all  his  friends  advancing  to  meet  him  on  the  strand ; 

His  heart  was  full  of  gladness,  albeit  his  eyes  ran  o’er, — 

For  he  wept  as  he  stepped  upon  the  Christian  shore. 


COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLISA. 


[Mr.  Bouterwek  has  analyzed  this  ballad,  and  commented  upon  it  at  some 
length,  in  his-  History  of  Spanish  Literature,  Book  I.  Section  1.  He  bestows 
particular  praise  upon  that  line  of  the  thirty-first  stanza : — 

Dedes  me  ai;a  este  hijo  amamare  por  despedida. 

“ What  modem  poet,”  says  he,  “ would  have  dared  to  imagine  that  trait,  at 
once  so  natural  and  so  touching?  ” Bouterwek  seems  to  be  of  opinion  that  the 
story  had  been  taken  from  some  prose  romance  of  chivalry;  but  I have  not  been 
able  to  find  any  trace  of  it.] 


10 


146  COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLISA.''‘.,.'V  / 

■ 7- 

Alone,  as  was  ker  wont,  she  sat,  — within  her  bower  alone; 

Alone  and  very  desolate  Solisa  made  her  moan. 

Lamenting  for  her  flower  of  life,  that  it  should  pass  away, 

And  she  be  never  wooed  to  wife,  nor  see  a bridal  day. 

Thus  said  the  sad  Infanta : “ I will  not  hide  my  grief, 

I ’ll  tell  my  father  of  my  wrong,  and  he  will  yield  relief.” 

The  Bang,  when  he  beheld  her  near,  “Alas  ! my  child,”  said  he, 

“ What  means  this  melancholy  cheer  1 — reveal  thy  grief  to  me." 

' “ Good  King,”  she  said,  “ my  mother  was  buried  long  ago,  — 

She  left  me  to  thy  keeping,  none  else  my  grief  shall  know ; 

I fain  would  have  a liusband,  ’t  is  time  that  I should  wed  ; 

Forgive  the  words  I utter,  with  mickle  shame  they  ’re  said.” 

’T  was  thus  the  King  made  answer ; “ This  fault  is  none  of  mine,  — 

You  to  the  Prince  of  Hungary  your  ear  would  not  incline; 

Yet  round  us  here  where  lives  your  peerl  — nay,  name  him  if  you  can, — 
Except  the  Count  Alarcos,  and  he ’s  a married  man.” 

“ Ask  Count  Alarcos,  if  of  yore  his  word  he  did  7iot  plight 
To  be  my  husband  evennore,  and  love  me  day  and  night ; 

If  he  has  bound  him  in  new  vows,  old  oaths  he  cannot  break : 

Alas  ! I ’ve  lost  a loyal  spouse,  for  a false  lover’s  sake.” 

The  good  King  sat  confounded  in  silence  for  some  space,  — 

At  length  he  made  his  answer,  with  very  troubled  face ; 

“ It  was  not  thus  your  mother  gave  counsel  you  should  do ; 

You ’ve  done  much  wrong,  my  daughter ; we  ’re  shamed,  both  I and  yon. 

“ If  it  be  true  that  you  have  said,  our  honor ’s  lost  and  gone,  — 

And  while  the  Countess  is  in  life,  remecd  for  us  is  none : 

Though  justice  were  upon  our  side,  ill-talkers  would  not  spare,  — 

Speak,  daughter,  for  your  mother ’s  dead,  whose  counsel  eased  ray  care.” 


COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLISA. 


147 


“ How  can  I give  you  counsel  ? — but  little  wit  have  I,  — 

But  certes  Count  Alarcos  may  make  this  Countess  die : 

Let  it  be  noised  that  sickness  cut  short  her  tender  life, 

And  then  let  Count  Alarcos  come  and  ask  me  for  his  wife. 

WTiat  passed  between  us  long  ago,  of  that  be  nothing  said ; 

Thus  none  shall  our  dishonor  know,  — in  honor  I shall  wed.” 

The  Count  was  standing  with  his  friends, — thus  in  the  midst  he  spake: 
“ What  fools  be  men  ! — what  boots  our  pain  for  comely  woman’s  sake ! 
I loved  a fair  one  long  ago ; — though  I ’m  a married  man. 

Sad  memory  I can  ne’er  forego,  how  life  and  love  began.” 

While  yet  the  Count  was  speaking,  the  good  King  came  full  near ; 

He  made  his  salutation  with  very  courteous  cheer. 

“ Come  hither.  Count  Alarcos,  and  dine  with  me  this  day. 

For  I have  something  secret  I in  your  ear  must  say.” 

The  King  came  from  the  chapel,  when  he  had  heard  the  mass ; 

With  him  the  Count  Alarcos  did  to  his  chamber  pass ; 

Full  nobly  were  they  served  there,  by  pages  many  a one ; 

When  aU  were  gone,  and  they  alone,  ’t  was  thus  the  King  begun : — 

“ What  news  be  these,  Alarcos,  that  you  your  word  did  plight 
To  be  a husband  to  my  child,  and  love  her  day  and  night  1 
If  more  between  you  there  did  pass,  yourself  may  know  the  truth,  — 
But  shamed  is  my  gray  head,  — alas!  — and  scorned  Solisa’s  youth. 

“ I have  a heavy  word  to  speak,  — a lady  fair  doth  lie 
Within  my  daughter’s  rightful  place,  — and  certes ! she  must  die. 

Let  it  be  noised  that  sickness  cut  short  her  tender  life. 

Then  come  and  woo  my  daughter,  and  she  shall  be  your  wife  ; 

What  passed  between  you  long  ago,  of  that  be  nothing  said,  — 

Thus  none  shall  my  dishonor  know,  — in  honor  you  shall  wed.” 


148 


COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLI8A. 


Thus  spake  the  Count  Alarcos  : “ The  truth  I ’ll  not  deny, 

I to  the  Infanta  gave  my  troth,  and  broke  it  shamefully ; 

I feared  my  King  would  ne’er  consent  to  give  me  his  fair  daughter ; 

But,  oh ! spare  her  that ’s  innocent,  — avoid  that  sinful  slaughter.” 

“ She  dies  ! she  dies  ! ” the  King  replies ; — “ from  thine  own  sin  it  springs 
If  guiltless  blood  must  wash  the  blot  which  stains  the  blood  of  kings : 

Ere  morning  dawn  her  life  must  end,  and  thine  must  be  the  deed,  — 

Else  thou  on  shameful  block  must  bend : thereof  is  no  remeed.” 

“ Good  King,  my  hand  thou  mayst  command,  else  treason  blots  my  namo 
I ’ll  take  the  life  of  my  dear  wife — (God ! mine  be  not  the  blame !) 

Alas ! that  young  and  sinless  heart  for  other’s  sin  should  bleed  1 
Good  King,  in  sorrow  I depart.” “ May  God  your  errand  speed  1 ” 

In  sorrow  he  departed,  — dejectedly  he  rode 

The  weary  journey  from  that  place  unto  his  own  abode ; 

He  grieved  for  his  fair  Countess,  — dear  as  his  life  was  she ; 

Sore  grieved  he  for  that  lady,  and  for  his  children  three. 

The  one  was  yet  an  infant  upon  its  mother’s  breast. 

For  though  it  had  three  nurses,  it  liked  her  milk  the  best ; 

The  others  were  young  children,  that  had  but  little  wit. 

Hanging  about  their  mother’s  knee  while  nursing  she  did  sit. 

“ Alas  ! ” he  said,  when  he  had  come  within  a little  space,  — 

“ How  shall  I brook  the  cheerful  look  of  my  kind  lady’s  face  1 
To  see  her  coming  forth  in  glee  to  meet  me  in  my  hall. 

When  she  so  soon  a corpse  must  be,  and  I the  cause  of  all  1 ” 

uust  then  he  saw  her  at  the  door  with  all  her  babes  appear,  — 

(The  little  page  had  run  before  to  tell  his  lord  was  near.) 

“ Now  welcome  home,  my  lord,  my  life ! — Alas  1 you  droop  your  head : 
Tell,  Count  Alarcos,  tell  your  wife,  what  makes  your  eyes  so  red  1 ” 


COUNT  AUAKCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOLISA. 


149 


“I  ’ll  tell  you  all,  — I ’ll  tell  you  all : it  is  not  yet  the  hour; 

We  ’ll  sup  together  in  the  hall,  — I ’ll  tell  you  in  your  bower.” 

The  lady  brought  forth  what  she  had,  and  down  beside  him  sate ; 

He  sat  beside  her  pale  and  sad,  but  neither  drank  nor  ate. 

The  children  to  his  side  were  led, — he  loved  to  have  them  so, — 

Then  on  the  board  he  laid  his  head,  and  out  his  tears  did  flow : 

“ I fain  would  sleep,  — I fain  would  sleep,”  the  Count  Alarcos  said : — 
Alas  1 be  sure,  that  sleep  was  none  that  night  within  their  bed. 

They  came  together  to  the  bower  where  they  were  used  to  rest, 

None  with  them  but  the  little  babe  that  was  upon  the  breast : 

The  Count  had  barred  the  chamber  doors,  — they  ne’er  were  barred  till  then  ; 
“ Unhappy  lad^”  he  began,  “ and  I most  lost  of  men  ! ” 

“ Now,  speak  not  so,  my  noble  lord,  my  husband,  and  my  life  ! 

Unhappy  never  can  she  be  that  is  Alarcos’  wife.” 

“ Alas  ! unhappy  lady,  ’t  is  but  little  that  you  know. 

For  in  that  very  word  you ’ve  said  is  gathered  all  your  woe. 

“ Long  since  I loved  a lady,  — long  since  I oaths  did  plight 
To  be  that  lady’s  husband,  to  love  her  day  and  night ; 

Her  father  is  our  lord  the  King,  to  him  the  thing  is  known. 

And  now,  that  I the  news  should  bring  ! she  claims  me  for  her  own. 

“ Alas ! my  love ! — alas  ! my  life  ! — the  right  is  on  their  side ; 

Ere  I had  seen  your  face,  sweet  wife,  she  was  betrothed  my  bride  ! 

But  — 0 that  I should  speak  the  word ! — since  in  her  place  yon  lie, 

It  is  the  bidding  of  our  lord  that  you  this  night  must  die.” 

“ Are  these  the  wages  of  my  love,  so  lowly  and  so  leal  ? 

O,  kill  me  not,  thou  noble  Count,  when  at  thy  foot  I kneel ! 

But  send  me  to  my  father’s  house,  where  once  I dwelt  in  glee; 

There  will  I live  a lone  chaste  life,  and  rear  my  children  three.” 


15J 


COUNT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  S0LI8A. 


“ Tt  may  not  be,  — mine  oath  is  strong,  — ere  dawn  of  day  you  die  ! *' 
“ 0,  well ’t  is  seen  how  all  alone  upon  the  earth  am  I ; 

My  father  is  an  old,  frail  man,  — my  mother ’s  in  her  grave,  — 

And  dead  is  stout  Don  Garci,  — alas  ! my  brother  brave  ! 

“ ’T  was  at  this  coward  King’s  command  they  slew  my  brother  dear. 
And  now  1 ’m  helpless  in  the  land : — it  is  not  death  I fear. 

But  loth,  loth  am  I to  depart,  and  leave  my  children  so,  — 

Now  let  me  lay  them  to  my  heart,  and  kiss  them  ere  I go.” 

“ Kiss  him  that  lies  upon  thy  breast,  — the  rest  thou  mayst  not  see.” 
“ I fain  would  say  an  Av6.”  “ Then  say  it  speedily.” 

She  knelt  her  down  upon  her  knee : “ O Lord  ! behold  my  case,  — 
Judge  not  my  deeds,  but  look  on  me  in  pity  and  great  grace.” 

When  she  had  made  her  orison,  up  from  her  knees  she  rose : — 

“ Be  kind,  Alarcos,  to  our  babes,  and  pray  for  my  repose ; 

And  now  give  me  my  boy,  once  more  upon  my  breast  to  hold. 

That  he  may  drink  one  farewell  drink,  before  my  breast  be  cold.” 

“ Why  would  you  waken  the  poor  chOd  1 — you  see  he  is  asleep ; 
Prepare,  dear  wife,  — there  is  no  time,  the  dawn  begins  to  peep.” 

“ Now  hear  me,  Count  Alarcos  ! I give  thee  pardon  free,  — 

I pardon  thee  for  the  love’s  sake  wherewith  I ’ve  loved  thee ; 

“ But  they  have  not  my  pardon,  the  King  and  his  proud  daughter,  — 
The  curse  of  God  be  on  them  for  this  unchristian  slaughter  1 
I charge  them  with  my  dying  breath,  ere  thirty  days  be  gone. 

To  meet  me  in  the  realm  of  death,  and  at  God’s  awful  throne  ! ” 

He  drew  a kerchief  round  her  neck,  he  drew  it  tight  and  strong. 

Until  she  lay  quite  stiff  and  cold  her  chamber  floor  along ; 

He  laid  her  then  within  the  sheets,  and,  kneeling  by  her  side. 

To  God  and  Mary  Mother  in  misery  he  cried. 


COUXT  ALARCOS  AND  THE  INFANTA  SOI.ISA. 


Then  called  he  for  Ills  esquires  : — 0,  deep  was  their  dismay, 

When  they  into  the  chamber  came,  and  saw  her  how  she  lay  ! 

Thus  died  she  in  her  innocence,  a lady  void  of  wrong,  — 

But  God  took  heed  of  their  offence,  — his  vengeance  stayed  not  long. 

Within  twelve  days,  in  pain  and  dole,  the  Infanta  passed  away ; 

The  cruel  King  gave  up  his  soul  upon  the  twentieth  day ; 

Alarcos  followed  ere  the  moon  had  made  her  round  complete  ; 

Three  guilty  spirits  stood  right  soon  before  God’s  judgment-seat. 


■ * 

yfj, 


